
A DAUGHTER 
OF THE RICH 

MARY E. WALLER 





















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 






































































































... - ' ■ I ■ ■ 









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* 



“ They're cornin' along just by the turn of the road," 
frontispiece. See page 296. 


ftbe Beacon IbUl Boobobelf 

"5T 

A Daughter of the 
Rich 

By 

Mary E. Waller 


With Illustrations in Color by 
Elizabeth Shippen Green Elliott 


NON-REFER! 





Boston 

Little, Brown, and Company 
1924 


























Copyright, 1903, 1905, 1924, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 


/ 


All rights reserved. 


Published August, 1924. 


r 


Printed in the United States of America 


HUU 18 

©C1A801371 



v 






TO 

“MARTIE” 






CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Molasses Tea . i 

II Mrs. Blossom’s Valentine. 6 

III A Curious Case.13 

IV A Little Millionaire.. . 19 

V Transplanted. 31 

VI Malachi. 47 

VII The N.B.B.O.O. Society.53 

VIII A Lively Correspondence.63 

IX The Prize Chicken.71 

X An Unexpected Meeting.83 

XI Jack.98 

XII Results.107 

XIII A Social Addition.119 

XIV The Lost Nation. 126 

XV Wishing-Tree Secrets.. 134 

XVI A Christmas Prelude 138 

XVII Hunger-Ford.. . . . . 149 

XVIII Budd’s Proposal. . . . 172 

XIX A Year and a Day.182 

XX Snow-Bound.193 

XXI A Little Daughter of the Rich .... 202 

XXII Rose.221 

XXIII Behold How Great a Matter a Little Fire 

Kindleth.241 

XXIV “Old Put”.. . 254 

XXV San Juan.270 

XXVI Maria-Ann’s Crusade.276 

XXVII “—The Stars Above Shine Ever on Love—” 289 




























ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ They’re coinin’ along just by the turn of the road ” Frontispiece 

FACING PAGE 

Planting the corn.62 

“I can’t shake, Mr. Sherrill,” laughed Rose.100 

Then it was up and down — down and up the steep mountain 

road.160 

“ Do I look all right ? ” she asked earnestly.246 
























A DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 


I 

MOLASSES TEA 

“ Good-night, Martie,” called a sweet voice down the 
stairway. 

“ Good-night, Rose dear; I thought you were asleep.” 

“ Good-night, Martie,” duetted the twins, in the shrillest 
of treble and falsetto. 

“ Good-night, you rogues; go to sleep; you’ll wake baby.” 

“ Dood-night, mummy,” chirped a little voice from the 
adjoining room. 

There was a shout of laughter from the twins. 

“ Shut up,” growled March from the attic over the 
kitchen. “ Good-night, mother.” His growl ended in a 
squeak, for March was at that interesting period of his life 
indicated by a change of voice. At the sound, a prolonged 
snicker from somewhere was answered by a corresponding 
giggle from another-where. 

“ Now, children,” said Mrs. Blossom, speaking up the 
stairway, “ do be quiet, or baby will be wide awake.” 

“ Turn tiss me, mummy,” piped the little voice a second 
time, with no sound of sleep in it. 

“ Yes, darling, I’ll come ”; as she turned to go into the 
bedroom adjoining the kitchen, there was the sound of a 
jump overhead, a patter of bare feet, a squabble on the 
stairs, and Budd and Cherry, the irrepressible ten-year-old 
twins, tumbled into the room. 


2 


A Daughter of the Rich 

I’ll haul those kids back to bed for you, mother/’ shouted 
March, and flung himself out of bed to join the fray, while 
Rose was not behindhand in making her appearance. 

Mrs. Blossom came in with little May in her arms, and 
that was the signal for a wholesale kissing-party in which 
May was hostess. 

“ Children, children, you’ll smother me! ” laughed their 
mother. “ Here, sit down on the rug and warm your toes, 
— coming over those bare stairs this cold night! ” And 
down they sat, Rose and March, Budd and Cherry and lit¬ 
tle May, in thick white and red flannel night-dresses and gray 
flannel pajamas. 

Budd coughed consumptively, and Cherry followed suit. 
March shivered and shook like a small earthquake, and Rose 
looked up laughingly at her mother. 

“ We know what that means, don’t we, Martie,” she said. 
“ Shall I help? ” 

“ No, no, dear, — in your bare feet! ” 

Mrs. Blossom took a lamp from the shelf over the fire¬ 
place, and, leaving the five with their fifty toes turned and 
wriggling before the cheering warmth of the blazing hickory 
logs, disappeared in the pantry. 

“ Oh, bully,” said Budd, rubbing his flannel pajamas just 
over his stomach: “ I wish ’twas a cold night every day, 

then we could have molasses tea all the time, don’t you, 
Cherry ? ” 

“ Mm,” said Cherry, too full of the anticipated treat for 
articulate speech. 

“ There’s nothing like it to warm up your insides,” said 
March; “mother’s a brick to let us get up for it. She 
wouldn’t, you know, if father were at home.” 

“ My tummy’s told,” piped May, frantically patting her 
chest in imitation of Budd, and all the children shouted to 


A Daughter of the Rich 3 

see the wee four-year-old maiden trying to manufacture a 
shiver in the glow of the cheerful fire. 

Mrs. Blossom had never told her recipe for her “ hot 
molasses tea ”; but it had been famed in the family for more 
than a generation. She had it from her mother. The treat 
was always reserved for a bitterly cold night, and the good 
things in it of which one had a taste — molasses, white sugar, 
lemon-peel, butter, peppermint, boiled raisins, and mysterious 
unknowns — were compounded with hot water into a palate¬ 
tickling beverage. 

When Mrs. Blossom reappeared with a kettle sending 
forth a small cloud of fragrant steam in one hand and a tray 
filled with tin cups in the other, the delighted “ Ohs ” and 
“ Ahs ” repaid her for all her extra work at the close of a 
busy, weary day. 

Budd rolled over on the rug in his ecstasy, and Cherry was 
about to roll on top of him, when March interfered, and 
order was restored. 

As they sat there on the big, braided square of woollen 
rag-carpet, sipping and ohing and ahing with supreme satis¬ 
faction, Mrs. Blossom broached the subject of valentines. 

“ IBs the first of February, children, and time to begin to 
make valentines. You’re not going to forget the Doctor this 
year, are you ? ” 

“ No, indeed, Martie,” said Rose. “ He deserves the pret¬ 
tiest we can make. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m go¬ 
ing to make him a shaving-case, heart-shaped, with birch- 
bark covers, and if March will decorate it for me, I think it 
will be lovely; will you, March? ” 

“ Course I will; the Doctor’s a brick. I’ll tell you what, 
Martie, I can pen and ink some of those spruces and birches 
that the Doctor was so fond of last summer; how’ll that 
do?” 


4 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Just the thing,” said his mother; “ I know it will please 
him. What are you thinking, Cherry?” for the “other 
half ” of Budd was gazing dreamily into the fire, forgetting 
her tea in her revery. 

“ Fudge! ” said Cherry, shortly. March and Rose 
laughed. 

“ Keep still making fun of Cherry,” said Budd, ruffling at 
the sound; and to emphasize his admonishing words, he dug 
his sharp elbow so suddenly into March’s ribs that some hot 
molasses tea flew from the cup which his brother had just 
put to his mouth and spattered on his bare feet. 

March deliberately set down his tin cup on the hearth near 
the fire beside his brother’s, and turned upon Budd. Budd 
tried to dodge, but had no room. In a trice, March had his 
arms around him, and was hugging him in a bear-like em¬ 
brace. “Say you’re sorry! ” he demanded. 

“ Au-ow!” 

“ Say you’re sorry! ” he roared at him, hugging harder. 

“ Au-ow-ee-ow! ” 

“ Quick, or I’ll squeeze you some more! ” 

Budd was squirming and twisting like an eel. 

“ O-ee-wau-au-^w/" 

“ There,” said March, releasing him and setting him 
down with a thump on the rug; “ I’ll teach you to poke me 
in the ribs that way and scald my feet. — You’re game, 
though, old fellow,” he added patronizingly, as he heard a 
suspicious sniff from Cherry. “ You and Cherry make a 
whole team any day.” 

Cherry’s sniff changed to a smile, for March did not con¬ 
descend to praise either of them very often. 

“ Well,” she said meditatively, “ I suppose it did sound 
funny to say that, but I was thinking that if Budd would 
make me a little heart-shaped box of birch-bark, I’d make 


A Daughter of the Rich 5 

some maple-sugar fudge, — you know, Martie, the kind with 
butternuts in it, — and that could be my valentine for the 
Doctor.’’ 

“ Why, that’s a bright idea, Cherry,” said Mrs, Blossom; 
and, “ Bully for you, Cherry,” said Budd; “ we’ll begin to¬ 
morrow and crack the butternuts.” 

“What will May do?” asked Mrs. Blossom, lifting the 
little girl, who was already showing signs of being overcome 
with molasses tea and sleep. May nestled in her mother’s 
arms, leaned her head, running over with golden curls, on 
her mother’s breast, and murmured drowsily, — 

“ ’Ittle tooties — tut with mummy’s heart-tutter — tutter 
— tooties — tut — ” The blue-veined eyelids closed over 
the lovely eyes; and Mrs. Blossom, holding up her finger to 
hush the children’s mirth at May’s inspired utterance, carried 
her back into the bedroom. 

One after another the children crept noiselessly upstairs, 
with a whispered, “ Good-night, Martie,” and in ten min¬ 
utes Mary Blossom knew they were all in the land of dreams. 


II 


MRS, BLOSSOM'S VALENTINE 

It was a bitter night. Mrs. Blossom refilled the kitchen 
stove, and threw on more hickory in the fireplace in antici¬ 
pation of her husband’s late return from the village. She 
drew her little work-table near to the blaze, and sat down to 
her sewing. Then she sighed, and, as she bent over the large 
willow basket filled with stockings to be darned and clothes 
to be mended, a tear rolled down her cheek and plashed on 
the edge. 

There was so much she wanted to do for her children — 
and so little with which to do it! There was March, an 
artist to his finger-tips, who longed to be an architect; and 
Rose, lovely in her young girlhood and giving promise of a 
lovelier womanhood, who was willing to work her way 
through one of the lesser colleges, if only she could be pre¬ 
pared for entrance. Mary Blossom saw no prospect of be¬ 
ing able to do anything* for either of them. 

And the father! He must be spared first, if he were to be 
their future bread-winner. Mary Blossom could never for¬ 
get that day, a year ago this very month, when her husband 
was brought home on a stretcher, hurt, as they thought, unto 
death, by a tree falling the wrong way in the woods where 
he was directing the choppers. 

What a year it had been! All they had saved had gone to 
pay for the extra help hired to carry on the farm and finish 
the log-cutting. A surgeon had come from the nearest city 
to give his verdict in the case and help if he could. 


A Daughter of the Rich 7 

The farm was mortgaged to enable them to pay the heavy 
bills incident to months of sickness and medical attendance; 
still the father lay helpless, and Mary Blossom’s faith and 
courage were put to their severest test, when both doctor and 
surgeon pronounced the case hopeless. He might live for 
years, they said, but useless, so far as his limbs were con¬ 
cerned. 

This was in June; and then it was that Mary Blossom, 
leaving Rose in charge of her father and the children, left 
her home, and walked bareheaded rapidly up the slope be¬ 
hind the house, across the upland pastures and over into the 
woodlands, from which they had hoped to derive a sufficient 
income to provide not only for their necessities, but for their 
children’s education and the comforts of life. 

Deep into the heart of them she made her way; and there, 
in the green silence, broken only by the note of a thrush and 
the stirring of June leafage above and about her, she knelt 
and poured out her sorrow-filled heart before God, and cast 
upon Him the intolerable burden that had rested so long 
upon her soul. 

The shadows were lengthening when at last she turned 
homewards. Cherry and Budd met her in the pasture, for 
Rose had grown anxious and sent them to find her. 

“ Why, where have you been, Martie?” exclaimed the 
twins. “ We were so frightened about you, because you 
didn’t come home.” 

“You needn’t have been; I’ve been talking with a Friend.” 
And more than that she never said. The children’s curiosity 
was roused, but when they told Rose and asked her what 
mother meant, Rose’s eyes filled with tears, and she kept 
silence; for she alone know with Whom her mother had 
talked that June afternoon. 

“ Run ahead, Budd, and tell Malachi to harness up Bess. 


8 


A Daughter of the Rich 

I want him to take a letter down to the village so that it may 
go on the night mail.” Budd flew rather than ran; for there 
was a look in his mother’s face that he had never seen be¬ 
fore, and it awed him. 

That night a letter went to Doctor Heath, a famous nerve 
specialist of New York City. It was a letter from Mary 
Blossom, his old-time friend and schoolmate in the academy 
at Barton’s River. In it she asked him if he would give her 
his advice in this case, saying she could not accept the deci¬ 
sion of the physician and surgeon unless it should be con¬ 
firmed by him. 

“ I cannot pay you now,” she wrote, “ but it was borne in 
upon me this afternoon to write to you, although you may 
have forgotten me in these many years, and I have no claim 
of present friendship, even, upon your time and service; 
but I must heed the inner command to appeal to you, what¬ 
ever you may think of me, —■ if I disobeyed that, I should 
be disobeying God’s voice in my life,” — and signed herself, 
“ Yours in childhood’s remembrance.” 

The next day a telegram was brought up from the village; 
and the day after the Doctor himself followed it. 

It was an anxious week; but the wonderful skill con¬ 
quered. The pressure on a certain nerve was removed, and 
for the last six months Benjamin Blossom had been slowly 
but surely coming back to his old-time health and strength. 
But again this winter the extra help had been necessary, and 
it had taxed all Mary Blossom’s ingenuity to make both ends 
meet; for there was the interest on the mortgage to be paid 
every six months, and the ready money had to go for that. 

In the midst of her thoughts, her recollections and plans, 
she caught the sound of sleigh-bells. The tall clock was just 
striking ten. Smoothing every line of care and banishing 
all look of sadness from her face, she met her husband with 


A Daughter of the Rich 9 

a cheery smile and a, “ I’m so glad you've got home, Ben; 
it’s just twenty below, and the molasses tea is ready for you 
and Chi." 

“ Chi! " called Mr. Blossom towards the barn. 

“ Whoa! ” shouted a voice that sounded frosty in spite of 
itself. “ Whoa, Bess! " 

“ Come into the kitchen before you turn in; there's some 
hot molasses tea waiting for us." 

“ Be there in a minute," he shouted back, and Bess pranced 
into the barn. 

“ Oh, Mary, this is good," said Mr. Blossom, as he 
slipped out of his buffalo-robe coat and into his warm house- 
jacket, dropped his boots outside in the shed, and put on his 
carpet-slippers that had been waiting for him on the hearth. 

“ It is home, Ben," said his wife, bringing out clean tin 
cups from the pantry, and putting them to warm beside the 
kettle on the hearth. 

“ Yes, with you in it, Mary," he said with the smile that 
had won him his true-love eighteen years before. 

“ Come in, Chi," he called towards the shed, whence 
came sounds as if some one were dancing a double-shuffle in 
snow-boots. 

“ ’Fraid I’ll thaw 'n' make a puddle on the hearth, Mis' 
Blossom. I’m as stiff as an icicle: guess I’ll take my tea per- 
pendic’lar; I ain’t fit to sit down." 

“ Sit down, sit down, Chi," said Mrs. Blossom. “ You’ll 
enjoy the tea more; and give yourself a thorough heating 
before you go to bed. I've put the soapstone in it," she 
added. 

“ Well, you beat all, Mis’ Blossom; just as if you didn’t 
find enough to do for yourself, you go to work ’n’ make 
work." He broke off suddenly, “George Washin’ton! ” he 


io A Daughter of the Rich 

exclaimed, “ most forgot to give you this letter that come 
on to-night’s mail.” 

He handed Mrs. Blossom the letter, which, with some 
difficulty, owing to his stiffened fingers, he extracted from 
the depths of the tail-pocket of his old overcoat. Then he 
helped himself to a brimming cup of the tea, and appar¬ 
ently swallowed its contents without once taking breath. 

“ Why, it’s from Doctor Heath! ” exclaimed Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, recognizing the handwriting. “ Is it a valentine, I 
wonder ? ” she said, feigning to laugh, for her heart sank 
within her, fearing it might be the bill, — and yet, and yet, 
the Doctor had said — she got no further with these 
thoughts, so intent was she on the contents of the letter. 

Chi, with an eye to prolonging his stay till he should 
know the why and wherefore of a letter from the great 
Doctor at this season of the year, took another cup of the 
tea. 

“ Ben, oh, Ben! ” cried Mrs. Blossom, in a faint, glad 
voice; and therewith, to her husband’s amazement, she 
handed him the letter, put both arms around his neck, and, 
dropping her head on his shoulder, sobbed as if her heart 
would break. 

Chi softly put down his half-emptied cup and tiptoed 
with creaking boots from the room. 

“ Can’t stand that, nohow,” he muttered to himself in the 
shed; and forgetting to light his lantern, he felt his way up 
the backstairs to his lodging in the room overhead, blinded 
by some suspicious drops of water in his eyes, which he 
cursed for frost melting from his bushy eyebrows. 

“ Oh, Ben, think of it! ” she cried, when her husband had 
soothed and calmed her. “ Twenty-five dollars a week; 
that makes a little more than twelve hundred a year. 


A Daughter of the Rich II 

Why, we can pay off all the mortgage and be free from that 
nightmare.” 

For answer her husband drew her closer to him, and late 
into the night they sat before the dying fire, talking and 
planning for the future. 

“ Children,” she said at breakfast next morning, and her 
voice sounded so bright and cheery that the room seemed 
full of sunshine, although the sky was a hard, cold gray, 
“I’ve had one valentine already; it came last night from 
the Doctor.” 

Chi listened with all his ears. 

“Mother!” burst from the children, “where is it?” 
“ Show it to us.” “ Why didn’t you tell us before break¬ 
fast?” 

“ I can’t show it to you yet; it’s a live one.” 

“ A live one! ” chorussed the children. 

“ You’re fooling us, mother,” said March. 

“ Do I look as if I were? ” replied his mother. 

And March was obliged to confess that she had never 
looked more in earnest. 

Rose left her seat and stole to her father’s side. “ What 
does it mean, pater ? ” she whispered. 

“ Ask your mother,” was all the satisfaction she received, 
and walked, crestfallen, back to her chair; for when had 
her father refused her anything? 

“When will you tell us, anyway?” said Budd, a little 
gruffly. He hated a secret. 

“ I can’t tell you that either,” said his mother, “ and I 
don’t know that I shall tell you until the very last, if you ask 
in that voice.” 

Budd screwed his mouth into a smile, and, unbeknown to 
the rest of the family, reached under the cloth for his 
mother’s hand. He sat next to her, and that had been his 


12 


A Daughter of the Rich 

way of saying “ Forgive me,” ever since he was a tiny boy. 

He had a squeeze in return and felt happier. 

“ I say, let’s guess,” said Cherry. “ If I don’t do some¬ 
thing, I shall burst.” 

“ You express my feelings perfectly, Cherry,” said 
March, gravely, and the guessing began. 

“ A St. Bernard puppy? ” said Budd, who coveted one. 

“ A Shetland pony,” said Cherry. 

“ The Doctor’s coming up here, himself.” That was 
Rose’s guess. 

“ ’Tain’t likely,” growled Budd. 

“ A tunning ’ittle baby,” chirped May. 

March failed to think of any live thing the Doctor was 
likely to send unless it might be a Wyandotte blood-rooster, 
such as he and the Doctor had talked about last summer. 

“ You’re all cold, cold as ice,” laughed their mother, using 
the words of the game she had so often played with them 
when they were younger. 

“ Oh, mother! ” they protested. They were almost indig¬ 
nant. 

Chi rose and left the table. “ Beats me,” he muttered, as 
he took down his axe from a beam in the woodshed. 
“ What in thunder can it be ? I ain’t goin’ to ask questions, 
but I’ll ferret it out, — by George Washin’ton ”; and that 
was Chi’s most solemn oath. 


Ill 


A CURIOUS CASE 

“ What is it dear? ” 

“ Bothered — bothered.” 

“ A case? ” 

“ Yes, and I must get it off my mind this evening.” 

The Doctor set down his after-dinner coffee untasted on 
the library table, and rose with a half sigh from his easy 
chair before the blazing wood-fire. His heavy eyebrows 
were drawn together into a straight line over the bridge of 
his nose, and that, his wife knew full well, was an ominous 
sign. 

“ Must you go to-night? It’s such a fearful storm; just 
hear it! ” 

“ Yes, I must; just to get it off my mind. I sha’n’t be 
gone long, and I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.” 
The Doctor stooped and kissed the detaining hand that his 
wife had laid lovingly on his arm; then, turning to the tele¬ 
phone, he bespoke a cab. 

As the vehicle made its way up Fifth Avenue in the teeth 
of a February, northeast gale that drove the sleet rattling 
against the windows, Doctor Heath settled back farther into 
his corner, growling to himself, “ I wish some people would 
let me manage their affairs for them; it would show their 
common sense to let me show them some of mine.” 

A few blocks north of the park entrance, the cab turned 
east into a side street, and stopped at Number 4. 


14 A Daughter of the Rich 

“Mr. Clyde in, Wilkins?” asked the Doctor of the 
colored butler, who opened the door. 

“ Yes, sah; jes’ up from dinner, sah, to see Miss Hazel.” 

“ Tell him I want to see him in the library. 

“ Yes, sah.” He took the Doctor’s cloak and hat, hesi¬ 
tating a moment before leaving, then turning, said: “ ’Scuse 
me, sah, but Miss Hazel ain’t more discomposed ? ” 

“ No, no, Wilkins; Miss Hazel is doing fairly well.” 

“Thank you, sah;” and Wilkins ducked his head and 
sprang upstairs. 

“ Why, Dick,” said Mr. Clyde, as he entered the library 
hurriedly, “ what’s wrong? ” 

“ The world in general, Johnny, and your world in par¬ 
ticular, old fellow.” 

“ Is Hazel worse ? ” The father’s anxiety could be heard 
in the tone with which he put the question. 

“ I’m not satisfied, John, and I’m bothered.” 

When Doctor Heath called his friend “ John,” Mr. Clyde 
knew that the very soul of him was heavily burdened. The 
two had been chums at Yale: the one a rich man’s son; the 
other a country doctor’s one boy, to whom had been be¬ 
queathed only a name honored in every county of his native 
state, a good constitution, and an ambition to follow his 
father’s profession. The boy had become one of the lead¬ 
ing physicians of the great city in which he made his home ; 
his friend one of the most sought-after men in the whirling 
gayeties of the great metropolis. As he stood on the hearth 
with his back to the mantel waiting for the physician’s next 
word, he was typical of the best culture of the city, and the 
Doctor looked up into the fine face with a deep affection 
visible in his eyes. 

“ Going out, as usual, John? ” 


A Daughter of the Rich 15 

“ Only to the Pearsells’ reception. Don’t keep me wait¬ 
ing, old fellow; speak up.” 

“ How the deuce am I to make things plain to you, John? 
Here, draw up your chair a little nearer mine, as you used 
in college when you knew I had a four a. m. lecture awaiting 
you, after one of your larks.” 

The two men helped themselves to cigars; and the Doc¬ 
tor, resting his head on the back of the chair, slowly let 
forth the smoke in curling rings, and watched them dissolve 
and disperse. 

“ Come, Dick, go ahead; I can stand it if you can.” 

“ Well, then, I’ve done all I can for Hazel, and shall have 
to give up the case unless you do all you can for her.” 

Now the Doctor had not intended to make his statement 
in such a blunt fashion, and he could not blame Mr. Clyde 
for the touch of resentment that was so quick to show in his 
answer. 

“ I didn’t suppose you went back on your patients in this 
way, Richard; much less on a friend. I have done every¬ 
thing I can for Hazel. If there is anything I’ve omitted, 
just tell me, and I’ll try to make it good.” 

The Doctor nodded penitently. “ I know, John, I’ve said 
it badly; and I don’t know but that I shall make it worse by 
saying you’ve done too much.” 

“ Too much! That is not possible. Didn’t you order last 
year’s trip to Florida and the summer yachting cruise? ” 

Doctor Heath groaned. “ I’m getting in deeper and 
deeper, John; you can’t understand, because you are you; 
bom and bred as you are — Look here, John, did it ever 
occur to you that Hazel is a little hot-house plant that needs 
hardening ? ” 

“ No, Richard.” 

“ Well, she is; she needs hardening to make her any kind 


16 A Daughter of the Rich 

of a woman physically and, and—” The Doctor stopped 
short. There were some things of which he rarely spoke. 

“ My Hazel needs hardening! ” exclaimed the amazed 
father. “ Why, Richard, haven’t you impressed upon me 
again and again that she needs the greatest care ? ” 

The Doctor groaned again and smote his friend solidly 
on the knee. 

“ Oh, you poor rich — you poor rich! i Eyes have ye, 
and ye see not; ears have ye, and hear not.’ John, the girl 
must go away from you, who over-indulge her, from this 
home-nest of luxury, from this private-school business and 
dancing-class dissipation, from her young-grown-up lunch- 
parties and matinee-parties, from her violin lessons and 
her indoor gymnastics — curse them! ” 

This was a great deal for the usually self-contained physi¬ 
cian, and Mr. Clyde stared at him, but half comprehending. 

“ Go away? Do you mean, Richard, that she must leave 
me?” 

“ Yes, I mean just that.” 

“ Well,” — it was a long-drawn, thinking “ well,” — “ I 
will ask my sister to take her this summer. She returns 
from Egypt soon and has just written me she intends to 
open her place, ‘ The Wyndes,’ in June.” 

Again the Doctor groaned: “And kill her with golf and 
picnics and coaching among all those fashionable butterflies! 
Now, hear to me, John,” he laid his hand on his friend’s 
shoulder, “ send her away into the country, that is country, 
— something, by the way, which you know precious little 
about. Let me find her a place up among those life-giving 
Green Hills, and do you do without her for one year. Let 
me prescribe for her there; and I’ll guarantee she returns to 
you hale and hearty. Trust her to me, John; you’ll thank 
me in the end. I can do no more for her here.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 17 

“ Do you mean, Richard, to put her away into real coun¬ 
try conditions ? ” 

“Yes, just that; into a farmer’s family, if possible,— 
and I know I can make it possible, — and let her be as one 
of them, work, play, go barefoot, eat, sleep, be merry — in 
fact, be what the Lord intended her to be; and you’ll find out 
that is something very different from what she is, if only 
you’ll hear to me.” 

The Doctor was pacing the room in his earnestness. He 
was not accustomed to beg thus to be allowed to prescribe for 
his patients. His one word was law, and he was not re¬ 
quired to explain his motives. 

Mr. Clyde’s eyes followed him; then he broke the pro¬ 
longed silence. 

“ Richard, you have asked me the one thing to which her 
mother would never have consented. How, then, can I ? ” 

“ Think it over, John, and let me know.” 

The two men clasped hands. 

“ Let me take you along in my cab to the reception; it’s 
inhuman to take out your horses on such a night.” 

“ Thank you, no; I think I’ll give it up; I’m not in the 
mood for it. Good-night, old fellow.” 

“ Good-night, Johnny.” 

The next morning, at breakfast, the Doctor took up a note 
that lay beside his plate, and after reading it beamed joyously 
while he stirred his coffee vigorously without drinking it. 
When, finally, he looked up, his wife elevated her eyebrows 
over the top of the coffee urn, and the Doctor laughed. 

“ To be sure, wifie, read the note.” And this is what she 
read: — 

Dear Richard, — I’ve had a hard night, trying to look at things 
from your point of view and see my own duty towards Hazel. 
Things have grown rather misty, looking both backwards and 


18 A Daughter of the Rich 

forwards, and I have concluded I can’t do better than to take 
you at your word, — trust her to you, and accept the guarantee 
of her return to me with her physical condition such as it should be. 

This decision will, as you well know, raise a storm of protest 
among the relations. The whole swarm will be about my ears 
in less than no time. Stand by me. The whole responsibility 
rests upon you, — and tell Hazel; I’m too much of a coward. 
This is a confession, but you will understand. Let me know the 
details of your plans so soon as possible. I have never been 
able to give you such a proof of friendship. Have you ever asked 
another man for such ? I mistrust you, old fellow. 

Yours, 


John. 


IV 


A LITTLE MILLIONAIRE 

“ Gabrielle.” 

“ Oui, mademoiselle Hazel,” came in shrill yet muffled 
tones from the depths of the dressing-room closet. 

“ Bring me my white silk kimono.” 

“ Oui, mademoiselle.” 

The order, in French, was given in a weak and slightly 
fretful voice that issued from the bed at the farther end of a 
large room from which the dressing-room opened. The 
apartment was, in truth, what Doctor Heath had called it, 
“ a nest of luxury.” 

It was a bitter Saint Valentine’s Day which succeeded 
the Doctor’s evening visit. The wood-fire, blazing cheerily 
in the ample fireplace, sent its warmth and light far out into 
the room, flashing red reflections in the curiously twisted 
bars of the brass bedstead. At the left of the fireplace stood 
a small round tea-table, and upon it a little silver tea-kettle 
on a standard of the same metal. Dainty cups and saucers 
of egg-shell china were grouped about it; a miniature 
silver tray held a sugar-dish and a cream-pot and a half- 
dozen gold-lined souvenir spoons. 

On the richly carved mantel stood an exquisite plate-glass 
clock, the chimes of which were just striking nine, and, 
keeping it company to right and left, were two dainty figures 
of a shepherd and shepherdess in Dresden china. The re¬ 
maining mantel space was filled with tiny figures in bisque, 


20 


A Daughter of the Rich 

— a dachshund, a cat and kittens, a porcelain box, heart- 
shaped, the top covered with china forget-me-nots, a silver 
drinking-cup, a small oval portrait on ivory of a beautiful 
young woman, framed in richly chased gold, the inner rim 
set round with pearls. A blue pitcher of Cloisonne and a 
tray of filigree silver heaped with dainty cotillion favors 
stood on one end; on the other, a crystal vase filled with 
white tulips. 

Soft blue and white Japanese rugs lay upon the polished 
floor; delicate blue and white draperies hung at the windows. 
Dressing-case and writing-desk of white curled maple were 
each laden with articles for the toilet and for writing, in 
solid silver, engraved with the monogram H. C. A couch, 
upholstered in blue and white Japanese silk, stood at the 
right of the fireplace, and all about the room were dainty 
wicker chairs enamelled in white, and cushioned to match 
the hangings. 

The bed was canopied in pale blue covered with white net 
and edged with lace, and the coverlet was of silk of the 
same delicate color, embroidered with white violets and 
edged like the canopy, only with a deeper frill of lace. The 
occupant of this couch, fit for a princess royal, was the lit¬ 
tle mistress of all she surveyed, as well as the mansion of 
which the room formed a small part; and a woe-begone- 
looking little girl she was, who called again, and this time 
impatiently: — 

i( Gabrielle, hurry, do.” 

“ Oui, oui, mademoiselle Hazel;” and Gabrielle tripped 
across the room with the white kimono in one hand and 
fresh towels in the other. She had just slipped it upon 
Hazel when there was a knock at the door. Gabrielle opened 
it, and Wilkins asked in a voice intended to be low, but 
which proved only husky: — 


21 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Nuss say she mus’ jes’ speak wif Marse Clyde ‘fo’ she 
come up, an’ wan’s to know if Miss Hazel will haf her bref- 
fus now or wait till she comes up herse’f.” 

Before Gabrielle could answer, Hazel called out, “ You 
may bring it up now, Wilkins; and has the postman come 
yet?” 

Wilkins’ broad smile sounded in his voice, as it came out 
of its huskiness. 

“ Yes, Miss Hazel, ben jes’ ’fo’ I come up. I ain’t seen no 
hearts, but dey’s thicker’n spatter by de feel, an’ a heap o’ 
boxes by ’spress! ” 

“ Oh, bring them up quick, Wilkins, and tell papa to be 
sure and come up directly after breakfast! ” 

“ Yes, for sho’, Miss Hazel,” said Wilkins, delighted to 
have a word with the little daughter of her whom he had 
carried in his arms thirty-two years ago up and down the 
jasmine-covered porch of an old New Orleans mansion. 

In a few minutes, he reappeared with two large silver 
trays, on one of which was the tempting breakfast of Ham¬ 
burg grapes, a dropped egg, a slice of golden-brown toast, 
half of a squab broiled to a melting-point, and a cup of 
cocoa. On the other were boxes large and small, and white 
envelopes of all sizes. 

Gabrielle cut the string and opened the boxes, while 
Hazel looked on, pleased to be remembered, but finding 
nothing unusual in the display; for Christmas and Easter 
and birthdays and parties brought just about the same col¬ 
lection, minus “ the hearts,” which Wilkins had felt through 
the covers. The only fun, after all, was in the guessing. 

Just then Mr. Clyde entered. 

“ Oh, papa! I’m so glad you have come it’s no fun 
guessing alone.” She put up her peaked, sallow little face 
for the good-morning kiss; and her father, with the thought 


22 


A Daughter of the Rich 

of his last night’s struggle, took the face in both hands and 
kissed brow and mouth with unusual tenderness. 

“Why, papa!” she exclaimed, “that kiss is my best 
valentine; you never kissed me that way before.” 

“ Well, it’s time I began, Birdie; let’s see what you have 
for nonsense here. What’s this — from Cambridge ? ” 

“Oh, that’s Jack, I’m sure; he always sends me violets; 
but what is that in the middle of the bunch?” With a 
smile she drew out a tiny vignette of her Harvard Sopho¬ 
more cousin. It was framed in a little gold heart, and on a 
slip of paper was written, “ For thee, I’m all ’art.” 

“Jack’s a gay deceiver,” laughed her father; “he’s all 
* ’art ’ for a good many girls, big and little. What’s this? — 
and this ? ” 

One after another he took out the contents of envelopes 
and boxes, — candy hearts by the pound in silver bonbon 
boxes, silk hearts, paper hearts, a flower heart of real roses 
(“That’s from you, Papa Clyde! ” she exclaimed, and her 
father did not deny the pleasant accusation), hollow gilt 
hearts stuffed with sentiments, a silver chatelaine heart for 
change, and last, but not least, an enormous envelope, a foot 
square, containing a white paper heart all written over with 
“ sentiments ” from the girls in her class at school. 

“ Come now, Birdie,” said her father, after the last one 
had been opened and guessed over, “ eat your breakfast, or 
nurse will scold us both for putting play before business.” 

“ I don’t think I want any, papa,” said Hazel, languidly, 
for, after all, the valentines had proved to be almost too 
much excitement for the little girl, who was just recovering 
from weeks of slow fever; “ and, Gabrielle, take the flowers 
away, they make my head ache, — and the other things, 
too,” she added, turning her head wearily on the pillow. 

“ But you must eat, Hazel dear,” said her father, gently 


A Daughter of the Rich 23 

but firmly; and therewith he took a grape and squeezed the 
pulp between her lips. Hazel laughed, — a faint sound. 

“ Why, papa, if you feed me that way, I shall be a real 
Birdie. Yes,” she nodded, “ that’s good; I’ll take another ”; 
and her father proceeded to feed her slowly, now coaxing, 
now urging, then commanding, till a few grapes and a half 
egg were disposed of. 

“ There, now, I won’t play tyrant any longer,” he said, 
“ for your real tyrant of a doctor is coming soon, and I 
must be out of the way.” 

“ Are you going to be at home for luncheon to-day, 
papa ? ” 

“ No, dear, I’ve promised to go out to Tuxedo with the 
Masons, but I shall be at home before dinner, just to look 
in upon you. I dine with the Pearsells afterwards. Good¬ 
bye.” A kiss, — two, three of them; and the merry hand¬ 
some young father, still but thirty-seven, had gone, and with 
him much of the brightness of Hazel’s day. 

But she was used to this. Ever since she could remember 
anything, she had been petted and kissed and — left with her 
nurse, her governess, or a French maid. 

Her young mother, a Southern belle, lived more out of 
her home than in it, with the round of gayeties in the winter 
months interrupted and continued by winter house-parties 
at Lenox, a yachting cruise in the Mediterranean, an early 
spring-flitting to the mountains of North Carolina, and the 
later household moving to Newport. 

In all these migrations Hazel accompanied her parents; 
in fact, was moved about as so much goods and chattels, 
from New York to the Berkshires, from the Berkshires to 
Malta, from Malta to the Great Smokies, from the moun¬ 
tains to the sea; her appurtenances, the governess and 
French maid, went with her; and the routine of her home in 


24 A Daughter of the Rich 

New York, the study, the promenade, the all-alone break¬ 
fasts and dinners went on with the regularity of clockwork, 
whether on the yacht, in the mountains, or in the villa on the 
Cliff. 

So now, although she wished her father would stay and 
entertain her, it never occurred to her to tell him so; and 
likewise it never occurred to the father that his child needed 
or wished him to stay. Nor had it ever occurred to the 
young mother that she was not doing her whole duty by her 
child; for she never omitted to go upstairs and kiss her lit¬ 
tle daughter good-night, whether the child was awake or 
asleep, before going out to dinner, theatre, or reception. 

She died when Hazel was nine, and it was a lovely 
memory of “ mamma ” that Hazel cherished: a vision of 
loveliness in trailing white silk, or velvet, or lace), — her 
mother always wore white, it was her Southern inheritance, 
— with a single dark-red rose among the folds of Venetian 
point of the bertha; always a gleam of white neck and arms 
banded with flashing, many-faceted diamonds, or roped with 
pearls; always a sense of delicious white warmth and frag¬ 
rance, as the vision bent over her and pressed a light kiss 
upon her cheek. And if, in her bliss, she opened her sleepy 
eyes, she looked always into laughing brown depths, and 
putting up her hand caressed shining masses of brown hair. 

But it was always a good-night vision. In the morning 
mamma did not breakfast until ten, and Hazel was off to 
the little private school at half-past nine. At noon mamma 
was either out at lunch or giving a lunch-party; and in the 
afternoon there was the promenade in the Park with the 
governess, and sometimes, as a treat, a drive with mamma 
on her round of calls, when Hazel and the maid sat among 
the furs in the carriage. Then Hazel played at being grown 
up, and longed for the time when she could wear a reception 


A Daughter of the Rich 25 

dress like mamma’s, of white broadcloth and sable, and trip 
up the steps of the various houses, and trip down again with 
a bevy of young girls laughing and chatting so merrily. 

All that had ceased when Hazel was nine, and the young 
father had made her mistress in her mother’s place. It was 
such a great house! and there were so many servants! and 
the housekeeper was so strict; and it was so queer to sit at 
the round table in the big dining-room and try to look at 
papa over the silver epergne in the centre 1 

When she was eleven, she entered one of the large private 
schools which many of her little mates attended. Soon it 
came to be the “ girls of our set ” with Hazel; and then there 
followed music-lessons, and violin-lessons, and riding-les¬ 
sons, and dancing-class, and riding-days in the Park, and 
lunch-parties with the girls, and theatre matinee-parties, and 
concerts at Carnegie Hall, and birthday parties, and sales — 
school and drawing-room affairs — and Lenten sewing- 
classes; until gradually her little society life had become an 
epitome of her mother’s, and when she began to shoot up 
like a bean-sprout, lose her round face and the delicate pink 
from her cheeks, uncles and aunt and cousin and friends 
whispered of her mother’s frail constitution, and that it was 
time to take heed. 

Then it was that the physician, who had helped to bring 
her into the world, was summoned hastily to prevent her 
early departure from it. This was the “curious case” that 
so bothered him; and this pale, languid girl of thirteen in 
the blue-canopied bed was the one he intended to transplant 
into another soil. 

A short, sharp tap announced his arrival. The nurse 
opened the door. 

“Good-morning, little girl — ah, ah! Saint Valentine’s 
Day? I had forgotten it; all those came this morning? ” he 


26 A Daughter of the Rich 

said cheerily, pointing to a table on which Gabrielle had 
placed all the remembrances but the flowers. 

“ Yes, Doctor Heath; but my best valentine, you know, 
is papa, and after him, you.” 

“ Hm, flatterer! ” growled the Doctor feeling her pulse. 
“ Pretty good, pretty good. Think we can get you up for 
half a day. What do you say, nurse? ” 

“ I think it will do her good, Doctor Heath; she has no 
appetite yet, and a little exercise might help her to it.” 

“ No appetite? ” The two eyebrows drew together in a 
straight line over the bridge of his nose, and, from under 
them, a pair of keen eyes looked at Hazel. 

“ Well, I’ve planned something that will give you a splen¬ 
did one, Hazel, — the best kind of a tonic — ” 

“ Oh, I don’t want to take any more tonics. I am so sick 
of them,” said Hazel, in a despairing tone, for although she 
adored the Doctor, she despised his medicines. 

“ You won’t get sick of this tonic so soon, I’ll warrant,” 
he said unbending his brows and letting the full twinkle of 
his fine eyes shine forth, — “ at least not after you are used 
to it. I won’t say but that it may cause a certain kind of 
sickness at first; in fact, I’m sure of it.” 

“ Oh, will it nauseate me? ” cried Hazel, dreading to suf¬ 
fer any more. 

“ No, no, it won’t do that, but — ” 

“ But what do you mean, Doctor Heath? Are you jok¬ 
ing?” 

“ Never was more in earnest in my life,” replied the Doc¬ 
tor, rubbing his hands in glee, much to Hazel’s amazement. 
“ Hazel,” he turned abruptly to her, “ papa is a splendid fel¬ 
low ; did you know that ? ” 

Hazel laughed aloud, a real girl’s laugh, — Doctor Heath 
was so queer at times. 


27 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Have you just found that out? ” she retorted. 

“ No, you witch, — don’t be impertinent to your elders, 
— I haven’t; but really he is, take it all in all, just about the 
most common-sense fellow in New York City.” 

“ What has he done now, that you are praising him so? ” 

“ Just heard to me, my dear, and agreed to do just as I 
want him to,” said the Doctor, demurely. 

“ Why,” laughed Hazel, “ that’s just when I think he is 
a most splendid fellow, when he does just what I want him 
to. Isn’t it funny you and I think just alike! ” And she 
gave his hand a malicious little pat. The Doctor caught the 
five slender digits and held them fast. 

“ Now we’re agreed that you have the most splendid, com¬ 
mon-sense father in the world, I want you to prove to me 
that your father has the most splendid, common-sense 
daughter in it, as well.” 

Again Hazel laughed. She was used to her friend’s ways. 

“ That means that you want me to take that old, new tonic 
of yours.” 

“Yes, just that,” said the Doctor, emphatically; “and 
now, as you don’t appear to care to hear about it, I’m going 
to make a long call and tell you its entire history.” 

“ Have you brought it with you ? ” asked Hazel, some¬ 
what mystified. 

“ No, I can’t carry around with me in a cab five children, 
a hundred acres of pine woods, a whole mountain-top, and a 
few Jersey cows.” 

“ What do you mean ? You are joking.” 

Then the physician clasped the thin hand a little more 
closely and told her of the country plan. 

At first, Hazel failed to comprehend it. She gazed at the 
speaker with large, serious eyes, as if she half-feared ha had 
taken leave of his senses. 


28 A Daughter of the Rich 

“Did papa know it this morning?” was her first ques¬ 
tion. 

“ Yes, my dear.” 

“Then that is why he kissed me the way he did,” she said 
thoughtfully. “ But,” her lip quivered, “ I shan’t have him 
to kiss me up there, and — and — oh, dear! ” A wail went 
up from the canopied bed that made the Doctor turn sick at 
heart, and even the nurse hurried away into the dressing- 
room. 

Somehow Doctor Heath could not exhort Hazel, as he 
had her father, to use common-sense. He preferred to use 
diplomacy. 

“ You see, Hazel, a year won’t be so very long, and it 
will give your hair time to grow; and perhaps you would not 
mind wearing a cap for a time up there, while if you were 
here you certainly would not care about going to dancing- 
school or parties in that rig; now would you? ” 

Hazel sniffed and looked for her handkerchief. As she 
failed to find it, the Doctor applied his own huge square of 
linen to the dripping, reddened eyes, and tenderly stroked 
the smooth-shaven head. 

Hazel had her vanities like all girls, and her long dark 
braids had been one of them. After the fever, she had been 
shorn of what scanty locks had been left to her, and many 
a time she had wondered what the girls, would say when they 
saw her. After all, the new plan might be endured, for the 
sake of the hair and her looks. 

She sniffed again, and this time a good many tears were 
drawn up into her nose. The Doctor, taking no notice of 
the subsiding flood, proceeded, — 

“ My patients always look so comical when the fuzz is 
coming out. It’s like chicken-down all over the head —” 


A Daughter of the Rich 29 

“ Fuzz! ” exclaimed Hazel, with a dismayed, wide-eyed 
look; “ must I have fuzz for hair ? ” 

“ Why, of course, for about five months,” was the Doc¬ 
tor’s matter-of-fact reply. “ Then,” he continued, appa¬ 
rently unheeding the look of relief that crept over Hazel’s 
face, “ you are apt to have the hair come out curly.” 

“ Oh!” 

“ Yes, and it really grows very fast — that is,” he said, 
resorting to wile, “ if any one is strong and well; but if the 
general health is not good, why — hem! — the hair isn’t apt 
to grow! ” 

“ Goodness! I don’t want to be bald all my life! ” 

“ No, I thought not, and for that very reason it did seem 
the best thing for you to get into the country where you can 
get well and strong as fast as ever you can.” 

“ Shall I have to eat my breakfast and dinner alone up 
there? ” was her next question. 

Doctor Heath laughed. “ What! With all those five 
children! You will never want for company, I can assure 
you of that. And now I’ll be off; as it’s Saint Valentine’s 
Day, which I had forgotten, I’ll wager I have five valentines 
from those very children waiting for me at home.” 

“ Will you show them to me, if you have? ” 

“ To be sure I will. Now sit up for half a day, and get 
yourself strong enough to let me take you up there by the 
middle of March.” 

“ Oh, are you going to take me ? What fun! Are they 
friends of yours ? ” she added timidly. 

“ Every one,” said the Doctor, emphatically. He turned 
at the door. “ You haven’t said yet whether you will honor 
me with your company up there.” 

“ I suppose I must,” she said, with something between a 


30 A Daughter of the Rich 

sigh and a laugh. “ But I don’t know what Gabrielle will 
do; she’ll be so homesick.” 

“ Gabrielle! ” cried the Doctor, in a voice loud with 
amazement; “you don’t think you are going to take 
Gabrielle with you, do you ? ” 

Before Hazel had time to recover from her astonish¬ 
ment, Gabrielle, hearing her name called so loudly, came 
tripping into the room. 

“ Oui, oui, monsieur le docteur ”; and Doctor Heath beat 
a hasty retreat to avoid further misunderstandings. 

In the afternoon, Hazel received a box by messenger, 
with, “ Please return by bearer,” on the wrapper. On open¬ 
ing it, she found the Doctor’s valentines with the following 
sentiments appropriately attached. 

i 

By Rose-pose made, by March adorned, 

’Tis not a Heart that one should scorn: 

For use each day, the whole year through, 

Where find a Valentine so true? 

ii 

Cherry Blossom made this fudge 
(Buddie made the box). 

Eat it soon, or you will judge, 

She made it all of rocks. 

hi 

Baby May has made this cookie; 

Mother baked it — but, by hookey! 

I can’t find another rhyme 
To match with this your valentine. 

Your loving Valentines, 

Rose, March, “ Budd and Cherry,” May Blossom. 
(We’re one.) 

Mount Hunger, February 14, 1896. 


V 


TRANSPLANTED 

It was the middle of April, yet the drifts still blocked the 
ravines and great patches of snow lay scattered thickly on 
the northern and eastern slopes of the mountains. 

Not a bud had thought of swelling; not a fern dared to 
raise its downy ball above the sodden leaves. Day after day 
a keen wind from the north chased dark clouds across a 
watery blue sky, and now and then a solitary crow flapped 
disconsolately over the upland pastures and into the woods. 

But in the farmhouse on the mountain, every Blossom was 
a-quiver with excitement, for the “live Valentine” was to 
arrive that day. 

According to what Doctor Heath had written first, Mrs. 
Blossom had expected Hazel to come the middle of March. 
She had told the children about it a week before that date, 
and ever since, wild and varied and continuous had been 
the speculations concerning the new member of the family. 

Both father and mother were much amused at the differ¬ 
ent ways in which each one accepted the fact, and com¬ 
mented upon it. At the same time they were slightly anxious 
as to the outcome of such a combination. 

“ They’ll work it out for themselves, Mary,” said Mr. 
Blossom, when his wife was expressing her fears on account 
of the attitude of March and Cherry. 

“ I hope with all my heart they will, without friction or 
unpleasantness for the poor child,” replied his wife, thought- 


32 A Daughter of the Rich 

fully, for March’s looks and words returned to her, and they 
foreboded trouble. 

Her husband smiled. "Perhaps the 'poor child’ will 
have her ways of looking at things up here, which may cause 
a pretty hard rub now and then for our children. But let 
them take it; it will do them good, and show us what stuff 
is in them for the future.” 

Mrs. Blossom tried to think so, but March’s words on 
that afternoon she had told the children came back to her. 

They were dumb at first through sheer surprise. Then 
Rose spoke, flinging aside her Virgil she had been studying 
by the failing light at the window. 

“ Oh, mother! we’ve been so happy — just by ourselves.” 

“ Will you be less happy, Rose, in trying to make some 
one else share our happiness ? ” 

Rose said nothing, but leaned her forehead against the 
pane, and the tears trickled adown it and froze halfway. 

Mrs. Blossom proceeded, in the silence that followed, to 
tell them something of Hazel’s life. Then Budd spoke up 
like a man. 

“ I’m awful sorry for her; she’s a little brick to be willing 
to come away from her father and live with folks she don’t 
know. I’d be a darned coward about leaving my Popsey.” 

There was no tablecloth handy to hide the squeeze he 
wanted to give his mother’s hand, and Mrs. Blossom, know¬ 
ing how he hated any public demonstration of affection, re¬ 
served her approving kiss for the dark and bedtime. But 
she looked at him in a way that sent Budd whistling, “ I 
won’t play in your back-yard,” over to the kitchen stove, 
where he stared inanely at his own reflection in the polished 
pipe. 

For the first time in her life, Cherry did not echo her 
twin’s sentiment. She was already insanely jealous of the 


A Daughter of the Rich 33 

new-comer who seemed to claim so much of her mother’s 
sympathy and affection. And she wasn’t even here! What 
would it be when she was here for good and all? 

At this miserable thought, and all that it appeared to in¬ 
volve, Cherry began to cry. 

Now to see Cherry Bossom cry generally afforded great 
fun for the whole family; for there never was a girl of ten 
who could cry in quite such a unique manner as this same 
round-faced, pug-nosed, brown-eyed Cherry, whose red hair 
curled as tightly as corkscrews all over her head, and 
bobbed and danced and quivered and shook with every mo¬ 
tion and emotion. 

First, her nose grew very red at the tip; then, her small 
mouth screwed itself around by her left ear; gradually, her 
round face wrinkled till it resembled a withered crab-apple; 
and finally, if one listened intently and watched closely, one 
could hear small sniffs and see two infinitesimal drops of 
water issue from the nearly closed and wrinkled eyes. 

But to-day no one noticed, and Cherry sat down in her 
mother’s lap, and mumbled out her woe between sniffs. 

“ I can’t help it if Budd does want her; / don’t, Martie. 
Budd will play with her, and you’ll kiss her just as you do us, 
and it won’t be comfy any more.” 

“That does not sound like mother’s Cherry Blossom,” 
said Mrs. Blossom, smiling in spite of herself. “ I think I’ll 
tell you all why it comes to mother and father as a blessing.” 

Then Mrs. Blossom told them of the mortgage on the 
farm; how it had been made necessary, and what it meant, 
and how it was her duty to accept what had been sent to 
her as a means of paying it off. 

Rose came over from the window. “ Oh, why didn t you 
tell us before, Martie,” she cried, sobbing outright this time, 
“ and let us help you to earn something towards it during all 


34 A Daughter of the Rich 

this dreadful year? To think you have been bearing all this, 
and just going about the same, smiling and cheer — oh, 
dear! ” Rose sat down on the hearth-rug at her mother’s 
feet, and her sobs mingled with Cherry’s sniffs. 

March, who had listened thus far in silence, rose from 
the settle where he had flung himself in disgust, and, going 
over to his mother, stood straight and tall before her. His 
gray eyes flashed. 

“ I’ve been a fool, mother, not ,to see it all before this. 
You ought to have told me. I’m your eldest son, and come 
next after father in ‘ home things.’ ” And with this asser¬ 
tion he made a mighty resolve, then and there to put away 
boyish things and be more of a man. His mother, looking 
at him, felt the change, and tears of thankfulness filled her 
eyes. 

“ What could you do, children? You were too young to 
have your lives burdened with work.” 

“ I’d have found something to do, mother, if you had only 
told me. About the girl —” he hesitated — “ of course I’ll 
look at it from the money side, but it’ll never be the same 
after she comes — never! ” And with that he went off into 
the barn. 

His mother sighed, for March was looking at the matter 
in the very way which, to her, was abhorrent. 

“ Don’t sigh so, Martie,” cried Rose; “ I’ll take back what 
I said, and do everything I can to help you by making it 
pleasant for her. Budd has made me ashamed of myself.” 

“ That’s my own daughter Rose,” said Mrs. Blossom, 
leaning over to kiss her parting, for Cherry was awkwardly 
in the way. 

“ Did you hear Rose, Cherry? ” whispered her mother. 

“ Ye-es,” sniffed Cherry. 


A Daughter of the Rich 35 

“ And won’t you try to help mother, and make Hazel 
happy ? ” 

“ N-o,” said Cherry, still obdurate. 

“ Very well; then I must depend on Rose and Budd and 
little May,” replied her mother, putting her down from her 
knee. By which Cherry knew she was out of favor, and, not 
having Budd to flee to for sympathy, ran blindly out into the 
woodshed and straight into Chi, who was bringing in two 
twelve-quart milk pails filled to overflowing with their 
creamy contents. 

“ Hi there! Cherry Bounce! Steady, steady — without 
you want to mop up this woodshed.” 

“ O Chi! I’m just as miser’ble; a new little girl’s coming 
to live with us always, and we’ll have no more good times.” 

“ That’s queer,” said Chi, balancing the pails deftly as 
Cherry fluttered about, rather uncertain as to where she 
should betake herself in the cold. “ I should think it would 
be the more, the merrier. When’s she cornin’ ? ” 

“ This very month,” said Cherry, opening her eyes a little 
wider, and forgetting to sniff in her delight at telling some 
news. “ She’s a rich little girl, but very poor, too, mother 
says, and she’s been sick and is coming here to get well. I 
suppose she’s lost all her flesh while she’s been sick, like 
Aunt Tryphosa; don’t you? That’s why she’s so poor.” 

“ Hm! — rich ’n’ poor too; that’s bad for children,” said 
Chi soberly. 

“Why?” asked Cherry, surprised into drying her small 
tears and forgetting to sniff. 

“ Coz ’tis. You see, all you children are rich ’n’ poor too; 
so she’ll keep you comp’ny, as she’s poor where you’re rich 
as Croesus,’n’ you’re poor as Job’s turkey where she’s rich.” 

“ Why, what do you mean, Chi ? ” 


36 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ You wait awhile, ’n’ you’ll find out.” And with that, 
Cherry had to be content. 

As the woodshed was too cold to be long comfortably 
mournful in, — Cherry decided to go inside and set the 
table for tea, wondering, meanwhile, what Chi meant. 
Ordinarily she would have gone straight to her mother to 
find out, but just to-night Cherry felt there was an abyss 
separating them, and she hated the very thought of the new¬ 
comer having caused this break between her adored Martie 
and herself before having stepped foot in the house. 

But Hazel’s arrival had been delayed a whole month; 
first, on account of the unusually cold weather of March, 
and then on account of the Doctor’s pressing engagements. 
To-night, however, this long waiting was to be at an end. 

Mr. Blossom had harnessed Bess and Bob into the two- 
seated wagon, and driven down three miles for them to the 
“ Mill Settlement ”; and there he was to meet the stage from 
Barton’s River, the nearest railway station. 

As the time approached for the light of the lantern on 
the wagon to glimmer on the lower mountain road, which 
ran in view of the house, the excitement of Budd and Cherry 
grew intense. March intended to be indifferent, yet tolerant, 
but even he went twice to the door to listen. As for Rose, 
she was thinking almost more of Doctor Heath, with whom 
she was a great favorite, than of the coming guest. Chi 
had done up the chores early with March’s help, and sat 
whistling and whittling in the shed door with his eye on the 
lower road. 

“ They’re coming; they’re coming! ” screamed the twins, 
making a wild dash for the woodshed, that they might have 
the first glimpse as the wagon drove up to the kitchen porch. 

“ Chi, they’re coming! ” they shrieked in his ear, as they 
flew past him. 


A Daughter of the Rich 3 7 

“ Well, I ain’t deaf, if they are,” said Chi, gathering him¬ 
self together, and going out to help unload. 

“ Chi, how are you ? ” said the Doctor, in a hearty tone, 
grasping the horny hand held out to him. 

“ First-rate, ’n’ glad to see you back on the Mountain.” 

“ Here, lend a hand, will you ? and take out a little some¬ 
body who has to be handled rather gently for a week or 
two.” 

“ I ain’t much used to handlin’ chiny,” he replied, “ but 
I’ll be careful.” 

He reached up his long arms and, gently as a woman, 
lifted Hazel out of the wagon on to the porch. 

By this time, Budd had found his bearings and had the 
Doctor by the hand. 

“ Halloo, Budd! here you are handy. Just take Hazel’s 
bag, and run into the house with her; she mustn’t stand a 
minute in this keen air.” 

Budd’s heart was going pretty fast, but he faced the 
music. 

“ Come along, Hazel; we’ve been waiting a month to see 
you.” 

“ And I’ve been waiting longer than that to see you, 
Budd.” The gentle voice made Budd her vassal forever 
after. 

“ Here, Martie, here’s Hazel! ” he shouted quite unneces¬ 
sarily, for his mother had come to the door to welcome her 
guests. Cherry, hearing the shout, disappeared in the 
pantry, and was invisible until called to supper. 

In the confusion of glad welcome that followed, Hazel 
was conscious of stepping into a large, warm, lighted room, 
of some one’s arms about her, and of a loving voice, saying: 

“ Come in, dear; you must be so tired with your long 
journey and this cold ride ”; and then a kiss that made her 


38 A Daughter of the Rich 

half forget the lonely, strange feeling she had had during 
the stage and wagon ride, despite the doctor’s cheerfulness 
and care of her. 

Then some one untied her brown velvet hood and loosened 
her long sealskin coat. 

“ Let me take off your things,” said Rose. 

Hazel looked up and into the loveliest face she ever re¬ 
membered to have seen. 

“ I’m Rose, and this is May. May, this is the valentine 
Martie told us of.” 

" I tiss ’00,” said May, winningly, and held up her rosy 
bud of a face to Hazel. Hazel stooped to give her, not one, 
but a half-dozen kisses. There was no resisting such a little 
blossom. 

May put up her hand and stroked the little silk skull-cap. 

“ What ’00 wear tap for ? ” 

“ Sh! baby,” said Rose, horrified, putting her hand on 
May’s mouth. 

“ Oh, don’t do that,” said Hazel, “ I’m so used to it now; 
I don’t mind what people say or think. But I did at first.” 

May’s lip began to quiver and roll over; Hazel sat down 
on the settle, and, drawing May up beside her, said 
gently: — 

“ There, there, little May Blossom, don’t you cry, and 
I’ll tell you all about it. It’s because I haven’t any hair. I 
lost it all when I was sick so long. Sometime I’ll show 
you how funny my head looks, all covered with fuzz. Doc¬ 
tor Heath says it’s like a little chicken’s.” And May was 
comforted and won once and for all to the Valentine, who 
gave her the tiny chatelaine watch to play with. 

Budd had been hanging about to get the first glimpse of 
Hazel by lamplight, and now rushed off to the barn and Chi 
to give vent to his feelings. 


39 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I say, Chi, where are you? ” 

“ In the harness room,” replied Chi. “ What do you 
want? ” as he appeared. 

“ I say, Chi, she’s a peach. She isn’t a bit stuck up, as 
March said she would be.” 

“ Good-lookin’ ? ” queried Chi. 

“ N-o,” said Budd, hesitating, “ n-o, but I think she will 
be when she gets some hair.” 

“ Ain’t got any hair! ” exclaimed Chi. u How does that 
happen? ” 

“ She said she’d been sick an’ lost it all, an’ ’t was like 
chicken fuzz.” 

“Said that, did she?” exclaimed Chi, laughing; then, 
with the sudden change from gayety to absolute solemnity 
that was peculiar to him, he said: — 

“ She’s no fool, I can tell you that, Budd; ’n’ I’ll bet my 
last red cent she’ll come out an A Number i beauty; ’n’ 
March Blossom had better hold his tongue till he cuts all his 
wisdom teeth.” And with that Chi went into the shed room 
to “ wash up.” 

What a supper that was! And what a room in which to 
eat it! 

But for the Doctor’s cheery voice, Hazel, as she sat in a 
corner of the settle, might have thought herself in another 
world, so unaccustomed were her city-bred eyes to all that 
was going on before her. The room itself was so queer, 
and, in a way new to her, delightful. 

The farmhouse was an old one, strong of beam and solid 
of foundation. It had been divided at first according to the 
fashion of the other century in which it was built. But as 
his family increased, Mr. Blossom found the need of a large, 
general living-room. It was then that he took down the 
wall between the front square room and the kitchen, and 


40 A Daughter of the Rich 

threw them into one. It was this arrangement that made the 
apartment unique. 

At one end was the huge fireplace that was originally in 
the front room. At the left of the fireplace was the jog 
into which the front door opened, formerly the little entry. 

This was the sitting-room end of the low forty-foot-long 
apartment; and it showed to Hazel the fireplace, the old- 
fashioned crane, with the hickory back-log glowing warm 
welcome, the long red-cushioned settle, a set of shelves filled 
with books, a little round work-table, Mrs. Blossom’s special 
property, a large round table of cherry that had turned richly 
red with age, and wooden armchairs and rockers, with patch- 
work cushions. 

The middle portion served for dining-room. In it were 
the family table of hard pine, the wooden chairs, and Mrs. 
Blossom’s grandmother’s tall pine dresser. 

At the kitchen end, next the woodshed, were the sink, 
the stove, the kitchen shelves for pots and pans, and the 
kitchen table with its bread-trough and pie-board, all of 
which Rose kept scoured white with soap and sand. 

This living-room, sitting-room, dining-room, and kitchen 
in one had six windows facing south and east. Every 
window had brackets for plants; for this evening Rose had 
turned the blossom-side inwards to the room, and the walls 
glowed and gleamed with the velvety crimson of gloxinias, 
the red of fuchsias, the pink and white and scarlet of gera¬ 
niums, the cream of wax-plant and begonia. Upon all this 
radiance of color, the lamplight shone and the fire flashed its 
crimson shadows. The kettle sang on the stove, and the 
delicious odor of baked potatoes came from the open oven. 

“ Why, March! ” said the Doctor, coming down from the 
spare room at the call for supper, “ waiting for an intro¬ 
duction? I didn’t know you stood on ceremony in this 


A Daughter of the Rich 41 

fashion. Allow me,” he said with mock gravity to Hazel, 
and presented March in due form. 

Hazel greeted him exactly as she would have greeted a 
new boy at dancing school. “ Little Miss Finicky,” was 
March’s scornful thought of her, as he bowed rather awk¬ 
wardly and thrust his hands into his pockets, racking his 
brains for something to say. 

“ What a handsome boy! As handsome as Jack,” was 
Hazel’s first impression; then, missing the cordiality with 
which the other members of the family had welcomed her, 
she said in thought, “ I’m sure he does not want me here 
by the way he acts; I think he’s horrid.” 

Doctor Heath sat down by Hazel. “ I’m not going to let 
you sit down to tea with all these mischiefs, little girl, not 
to-night, for you can’t eat baked potatoes and the other 
good things after that long journey, so I’ll ask Rose to give 
you a bite right here on the settle.” 

“ I’ll speak to Rose,” said March, glad to get away. 

“ Thank you,” said the Doctor, looking after him with a 
puzzled expression in his keen eyes. Just then Mr. Blossom 
and Chi came in, and the whole family sat down at the 
table. 

“ Why, where’s Cherry?” exclaimed the Doctor. 

“ Budd, where’s Cherry?” said his father. 

“ I promised her I wouldn’t tell where she hides till she 
was twelve, an’ now she’s ten, an’ she’s been so mean about 
Haz — ” 

“ Budd,” said his father, sternly, “ answer me directly.” 

“ She’s under the pantry shelf behind the meal-chest,” 
said Budd, meekly. 

There was a shout of laughter that caused Cherry to crawl 
out pretty quickly and open the pantry door, — for it was 
hard to hear the fun and not be in it. 


42 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Come, Cherry,” said her mother, still laughing, and 
Cherry slipped into her seat beside Doctor Heath with a 
murmured, “ How do you do ?” and her face bent so low 
over her plate that nothing was visible to Hazel but a round 
head running over with tight red curls that bobbed and 
trembled in a peculiarly funny way. 

“ Well, Cherry,” said the Doctor, trying to speak gravely, 
with only the red tip of a nose in view, “ you seem to be 
rather low in your mind. I shall have to prescribe for you. 
Chi, suppose you drive me down to the Settlement to-mor¬ 
row morning, and on the way to the train I will send up a 
cure-all for low spirits. I’ve something for March, too. I 
think he needs it.” He drew his eyebrows together over the 
bridge of his nose and cast a sharp glance at the boy, who 
felt the doctor had read him. 

“ That means you’ve got something for us,” said Budd 
bluntly. 

“ Guess Budd’s hit the nail on the head this time,” said 
Chi. “ Shouldn’t wonder if’t was some pretty lively stuff.” 

“ You’re right there, Chi,” replied the Doctor, laughing. 
“ There’s plenty of good strong bark in it— ” 

Thereupon there was a shout of joy from Budd which 
brought Cherry’s head into position at once. 

“ I know, I know, it’s a St. Bernard puppy! ” 

“ Oh— ee,” squealed Cherry, in her delight, and forth¬ 
with put her arm through the Doctor’s and squeezed it hard 
against her ribs. 

“ Guess there’s a good deal of crow-foot in the other, 
ain’t there ? ” said Chi, with a wink at March, who deliber¬ 
ately left his seat after saying, “ Excuse me” most gravely 
to his mother, and turned a somersault in the kitchen end 
just to relieve his feelings. Then, with his hands in his 


A Daughter of the Rich 43 

pockets, he went up to Doctor Heath, his usually clear, pale 
face flushing with excitement. 

“ Do you mean, Doctor Heath, you’re going to give me a 
full-blooded Wyandotte cock? ” he demanded. 

“ That is just what I mean, March,” replied the Doctor, 
with grave gravity, “ and twelve full-blooded wives are at 
this moment looking in vain for a roost beside their lord 
and master in the express office down at Barton’s River.” 

“ Oh, glory!” cried March, wringing the Doctor’s hand 
with both his, and then going off to execute another somer¬ 
sault. “ You’ve done it now! ” 

“Done what, March?” asked Doctor Heath, really 
touched by the boy’s grateful enthusiasm. 

“ Made my fortune,” he replied, dropping into his seat 
again, breathless with excitement; and to the Doctor’s 
amazement he saw tears, actual tears, gather in the boy’s 
eyes, before he looked down in his plate and busied himself 
with his baked potato. 

Hazel saw them too. “ What a strange boy,” she thought, 
“ and how different this is from eating my dinner all 
alone! ” Then she slipped up to the Doctor’s side with her 
small tray containing nothing but empty dishes, for the 
keen air and the sight of so many others eating and enjoying 
themselves had given her a good appetite. 

“ Are you satisfied with me now f ” she said, presenting 
her fray. 

“ I should think so,” he exclaimed. “ Two glasses of 
milk, two slices of toasted brown bread, one piece of sponge 
cake, and a baked apple with cream! I’ve gone out of busi¬ 
ness with you; my last ‘ tonic ’ is going to work well, — 
don’t you think so ? ” 

“ I’m sure it is,” she said quietly, but there was such a 
depth of meaning in the sweet voice and the few words that 


44 A Daughter of the Rich 

the Doctor threw his arm around her as they rose from the 
table, and kept her beside him until bedtime. 

At nine o’clock, Mrs. Blossom helped her to undress, and 
then, saying she would come back soon, left her alone in the 
little bedroom off the kitchen. 

Hazel looked about her in amazement. This was her 
little room! A small single bed, looking like a snow drift, 
so white and feathery and high was it; one window cur¬ 
tained with a square of starched white cotton cloth that 
drew over the panes by means of a white cord on which it 
was run at the top; a tiny wash-stand with an old-fashioned 
bowl and pitcher of green and white stone-ware, and over 
it an old-fashioned gilt mirror; a small splint-bottomed 
chair and large braided rug of red woollen rags. That was 
all, except in one corner, where some cleats had been nailed 
to the ceiling and a clothes-press made by hanging from 
them full curtains of white cloth. 

For the first time in her life, Hazel unpacked her own 
travelling-bag and took out the silver toilet articles with the 
pretty monogram. But where should she put them? No 
bureau, no dressing-case, no bath-room! — For a few min¬ 
utes Hazel felt bewildered, then, laughing, she put them 
back again into her bag and leaving her candle in the tin 
candlestick on the wash-stand, she gave one leap into the 
middle of the high feather-bed. 

Just then Mrs. Blossom returned from saying good-night 
to her own children. She tucked Hazel in snugly, and to 
the young girl’s surprise, knelt by the bed saying, “ Let us 
repeat the Lord’s Prayer together, dear ”; and together they 
said it, Hazel fearing almost the sound of her voice. When 
they had finished, Mary Blossom, still kneeling, asked that 
Father to bless the coming of this one of His little ones into 
their home, and asked it in such a loving, trustful way, that 


A Daughter of the Rich 45 

Hazel’s arm stole out from the coverlet and around Mrs. 
Blossoms neck; her head, soft and silky as a new-born 
baby’s cuddled to her shoulder; and when Mrs. Blossom 
kissed her good-night, she said suddenly, but half-timidly, 
“ Do you say this with Rose every night ? ” 

“ Yes, dear, every night.” 

“ And how old is Rose ? ” 

“ She will be seventeen next August.” 

“ Do you with Budd and Cherry, too? ” 

“ Yes, with all my children, even March and May.” 

“ March! ” exclaimed Hazel. 

“Why not?” laughed his mother. “I’m sure he needs 
it, as you’ll find out; now good-night, and don’t get up to 
our early breakfast to-morrow, for the Doctor goes on the 
first morning train, and you’re not quite strong enough yet 
to do just as we do. Good-night again.” 

“ Good-night,” said Hazel, thinking she could never have 
enough of this kind of putting to bed. 

Meanwhile March and Budd, in their bedroom over the 
“ long-room,” were discussing in half-whispers Wyandotte 
cocks, St. Bernard puppies, and the new-comer, for they 
were too excited to sleep. 

Just behind March’s bed, near the head, there was a large 
knot in the boards of the flooring, which for four years had 
served him many a good turn, when Budd and Cherry were 
planning, below in the kitchen, how they could play tricks 
upon him. March had carefully removed the knot, and with 
his eye, or ear, at the hole, he had been able, entirely to the 
mystification of the twins, to overthrow their conspiracies 
and defeat their flank movements. When his espionage was 
over, he replaced the knot, and no one in the household was 
the wiser for his private detective service. 

To-day, late in the afternoon, he had taken out the knot, 


46 A Daughter of the Rich 

intending to have a view of the new arrival, unbeknown to 
the rest of the household; but so interested had he become in 
the general welcome and in the anticipation of the Doctor’s 
gifts, that he had forgotten both to look through the hole 
and to replace the knot. 

Hazel, too, could not sleep at first. It was all so strange, 
and yet she was so happy. Her thoughts were in New York, 
and she was already planning for a visit from her father, 
when suddenly she remembered that she had left the little 
chatelaine watch he had given her on her last birthday, lying 
on the settle where May had been playing with it. She 
must wind it regularly, that was her father’s stipulation 
when he gave it to her. She sprang out of bed, tiptoed to the 
door, listened; all was still, but not wholly dark. The embers 
beneath the ashes in the fireplace sent a dull glow into the 
room. Softly she stole out; found her watch, then, half-way 
to her own door, stopped, startled by a voice issuing appar¬ 
ently from the rafters overhead. It was March, who, for¬ 
getting his open knot-hole, turned over towards the wall 
with a prolonged yawn and said, evidently in answer to 
Budd: — 

“ Oh, go to sleep; don’t talk about her. I think she’s a 
perfect guy.” 


VI 


MALACHI 

It was a month after the eventful day for the Blossoms, 
and Saturday morning. Rose, with her sleeves rolled up 
above her elbows, was kneading bread and singing, as she 
worked: — 

“ 1 Oh, a king would have loved and left thee, 

And away thy sweet love cast: 

But I am thine 

Whilst the stars shall shine,— 

To the — last — * ” 

Just here, she gave the round mass of dough a toss up to 
the ceiling and caught it deftly on her right fist as it came 
down, finishing her octave with high C, while again the 
bread spun aloft and dropped in safety on her left fist — “ to 
the last! ” 

Then she proceeded with her kneading and singing: — 

“ ‘ I told thee when love was hopeless; 

But now he is wild and sings — 

That the stars above [up went the bread again] — 
Shine ever on Love — ’ ” 

A peal of merry laughter close behind her made her jump, 
and the bread came down kerchunk into the kneading 
trough. 

“ Gracious, Hazel! how you frightened me! I thought 
you were off with Budd and Cherry.” 

“ So I was; but they wanted me to come in and tell you 
there is to be a secret meeting of the N. B. B. O. O. Society 


48 A Daughter of the Rich 

in the usual place. They said you would know where it is.” 

“ Of course I do; do you? ” 

“ No, they wouldn’t tell. They said it is against the rules 
to allow any one in who hasn’t been initiated. They said 
they’d initiate me, if I wanted to join.” 

“ Well, do you want to? ” 

“ Of course I do, if you belong,” said Hazel, eagerly. 

“ Tell them I’ll be out after I’ve put the bread to rise and 
cleared up; but be sure and tell them not to do anything till 
I come.” 

“ Yes,” cried Hazel, joyfully, skipping through the wood¬ 
shed and encountering Chi with a bag of seed-beans. 

“ Where you goin’,Lady-bird? ” (This was Chi’s name for 
her from the first day.) “ Seems to me you are gettin’ 
over the ground pretty fast.” 

“ The Buds ” (for so Hazel had nicknamed the children) 
“ are going to have a meeting somewhere of the N. B. B. 
O. O. Society, and I’m to be initiated, Chi. What does 
that mean? ” 

“ Initiated, hey? Into a secret society? Well, that 
depends. — Sometimes it means being tossed sky-high in 
a blanket, and then again you’re dropped lower than the 
bottomless pit; and you can’t most always tell beforehand 1 
which way you’re goin’.” 

Hazel’s face fairly lost the rich color she had gained in 
the past month. This was more than she had bargained 
for. 

“ Oh, Chi! They wouldn’t do such things to me! ” she 
exclaimed in dismay. 

“Well, no — I don’t know as they’d carry it that far; 
but those children mean mischief every time.” 

“ But they wouldn’t hurt me, Chi. They wouldn’t be 
as mean as that; besides, Rose wouldn’t let them.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 49 

“ Well, I don’t know as she would. But children are 
children, and Rose ain’t grown any wings yet.” 

“ Was Rose initiated? ” was Hazel’s next rather anxious 
question. 

“ Yes, she was,” said Chi, taking up a handful of beans 
and letting them run through his fingers into the open bag. 

“ How do you know, Chi ? ” 

“ Coz I initiated her myself? ” 

“ You, Chi? Why, do you belong? ” 

“ First member of the N. B. B. O. O. Society.” 

“ Well, that’s funny. Who initiated you? ” 

Chi set down the bag of beans, and for a moment shook 
with laughter; then, growing perfectly sober, he said 
solemnly: — 

“ I initiated myself. But they was all on hand when I 
did it.” 

“ What did you do, Chi ? ” 

“ Just hear her! ” said Chi to himself, but aloud, he said, 
“ I’ll tell you this much, if it is a secret society. They 
try ’n’ see what stuff you’re made of.” 

“ * Sugar and spice 
And all that’s nice, 

That’s what little girls are made of/ ” 

Hazel interrupted, singing merrily. 

“ There wasn’t much ‘ sugar ’n’ spice ’ in that Rose 
Blossom when she put me to the test. You ain’t heard a 
screech-owl yet; but when you do, you’ll come running home 
to find out whose bein’ killed in the woods.” 

Hazel looked at him half in fear, but Chi went on 
stolidly: — 

“ ’N’ those children told me I’d got to go up into the 
woods at twelve o’clock at night, when the screech-owls was 


£0 A Daughter of the Rich 

yellin’ bloody murder, to show I wasn’t scairt of nothin’; ’n’ 
I went.” 

“ Oh, Chi, wasn’t it awful? ” 

“ Kinder scarey; but they gave me the dinner horn ’n’ told 
me to blow a blast on that when I was up there, so they’d 
hear, ’n’ know I was clear into the woods; for they was all 
on hand watchin’ from the back attic window — what they 
could in a pitch-black night — to see if I’d back down.” 

“ And you didn’t, Chi ? ” said Hazel, eagerly. 

“ You bet I didn’t, ’n’ I brought home an old screecher 
just to prove I was game.” 

“How did you catch him, Chi ? ” 

Chi clapped his hands on his knees, and shook with 
laughter; then he grew perfectly sober: — 

“ I took a dark lantern along with me, just to kind of 
feel my way in the woods — but the children didn’t know 
about that — ’n’ when an old screecher gave a blood-curdlin’ 
yell, just as near my right ear as the engine down on the 
track when you’re standin’ at the depot at Barton’s River, — 
just then I turned on the light full tilt, and the feller sat 
right still on the branch, kind of dazed like, ’n’ I took 
him just as easy as I’d take a hen off the roost after dark, 
’n’ brought him home. ’N’ just as I was goin’ up into the 
attic in the dark, the shed stairs’ way, ’n’ the children was 
all listenin’ at the top in the dark, the dummed bird gave 
such a screech that the children all tumbled over one another 
tryin’ to get back to their beds, ’n’ such screamin’ ’n’ hollerin’ 
you never heard — the bird wasn’t in it.” 

Again Chi laughed at the recollection, and Hazel joined 
him. 

“ Did they make you do anything more, Chi ? ” 

“ By George Washin’ton! I should think they did,” said 


A Daughter of the Rich 51 

Chi, soberly. “ That last was March’s idea, but Rose went 
him one more.” 

“ What could Rose think of worse than that? ” demanded 
Hazel. 

“ Well, she did. She blindfolded my eyes ’n’ took me by 
the hand, ’n’ turned me round ’n’ round till I was most 
dizzy; ’n’ then she gave me a rope, ’n’ she took one end of 
it ’n’ made me take the other, ’n’ kept leadin’ me ’n’ leadin’ 
me, ’n’ the children all caperin’ round me, screamin’ ’n’ 
laughin’. Pretty soon — I calculated I’d walked about a 
quarter of a mile — the rope grew slack; all of a sudden 
the laughin’ ’n’ screamin’ stopped, ’n’ I — walked right off 
the bank into the big pool down under the pines, ker—• 
splash! ’n’ the children, after they’d got me in, was so scairt 
for fear I’d lose my breath — I couldn’t drown coz there 
wasn’t more than five feet of water in it — that they hauled 
on the rope with all their might, ’n’ pulled me out; ’n’ I let 
’em pull,” said Chi, grimly. 

" I hope they were satisfied after that,” said Hazel, 
soberly. 

“ They appeared to be,” said Chi, contentedly, “ for they 
said I should be president, coz I was so brave. But there’s 
other things harder to do than that.” 

fC What are they, Chi ? ” 

“ You’ve got to keep the by-laws.” 

“ What are those ? ” 

“ Rules of the Society. One of ’em ’s, you mustn’t be 
afraid to tell the truth. ’N’ another is, you must be scairt 
to tell a lie.” 

Hazel grew scarlet at her own thoughts. 

“ Another is, to help other folks all you can; ’n’ the fourth 
’n’ last is, that no boy or girl as lives in this great, free 
country of ours ought to be a coward.” 


52 A Daughter of the Rich 

Hazel drew a long breath. 

“ Those must be hard to keep.” 

“Well, they ain’t always easy, that’s a fact; but they’re 
mighty good to live by,” he added, picking up the bean-bag. 
“ I lived with Ben Blossom’s father when I was a little 
chap as chore boy, ’n’ he gave me my schoolin’ ’n’ clothes; 
’n’ I’ve lived with his son ever since he was married, ’n’ 
he’s been the best friend a man could have, ’n’ I’ve always 
got along with him in peace and lovin’-kindness; ’n’ those 
four by-laws his father wrote on my boyhood; ’n’ by those 
four by-laws I’ve kept my manhood; ’n’ so I think it’ll do 
anybody good to join the Society.” 

“ Well,” said Hazel, stoutly, “ I’ll show them I’m not 
afraid of some things, if I did run away from the turkey- 
gobbler.” 

“ That’s right,” said Chi, heartily, “ ’n’ more than that 
— betwixt you ’n’ me — you’ve no cause to be scairt what¬ 
ever they do; now mark my words, whatever they do,” re¬ 
peated Chi, emphatically. 

“ I don’t care what they do so long as you’re there, Chi,” 
said Hazel, looking up into his weather-roughened, deeply- 
lined face with such utter trust in her great eyes that Chi 
caught up the bag over his shoulder and hurried out to the 
barn, muttering to himself: — 

“ George Washin’ton! How she manages to creep into 
the softest corner of a man’s heart, I don’t know; I expect 
it’s those great eyes of hers, ’n’ that voice just like a brook 
winnerin’ ’n’ gurglin’ over its stones in August. — Guess 
there’s luck come to this house with Lady-bird! ” And he 
went about his work. 


VII 


THE N. B. B. O. O. SOCIETY 

“ Now, Hazel, we’re ready/’ said Rose, after the dinner 
dishes had been washed and the children’s time was their 
own. Hazel submitted meekly to the blindfolding process. 

She had tried in vain to find out something of what the 
children intended to do, but they were too clever for her to 
gain the smallest hint as to the initiation. March had been 
busy in the ice-house, and Cherry had been ironing the 
aprons for the family, — that was her Saturday morning 
duty. Budd and the St. Bernard puppy were off with Chi 
in the fields. 

Rose led her through the woodshed and out of doors — 
Hazel knew that by the rush of soft air that met her face — 
and away, somewhither. At last she was helped to climb a 
ladder; Chi’s hand grasped hers, and she felt the flooring 
under her feet. Then she was left without support of any 
kind, not daring to move with Chi’s story in her thoughts. 

“ Guess we’ll have the roll-call first,” said Chi, solemnly. 
There was not a sound to be heard except now and then a 
rush of wings and the twitter of swallows. 

“ Molly Stark.” 

“ Here,” said Rose. 

“ Markis de Lafayette.” 

“ Here,” from March. 

“ Marthy Washin’ton.” 

“ Present,” said Cherry, forgetting she was not in school. 
Budd snickered, and the president called him to order. 


54 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Fine of two cents for snickerin’ in meetin’.” Budd 
looked sober. 

“ Ethan Allen.” 

“ Here,” said Budd, in a subdued voice. 

“ Old Put, — Here,” said Chi, addressing and answering 
himself. “ Now, Markis, read the by-laws.” 

“ Number One. — We pledge ourselves not to be afraid 
to tell the truth.” 

“ Number Two. — We pledge ourselves to be afraid to 
tell a lie.” 

“ Number Three. — We pledge ourselves to try to help 
others whenever we can, wherever we can, however we can, 
as long as ever we can. 

“ Number 4 Four. — We, as American boys and girls, 
pledge ourselves never to play the coward nor to disgrace 
our country.” 

“ Molly Stark, unfurl the flag,” said Chi. 

Hazel heard a rustle as Rose unrolled the banner of soft 
red, white, and blue cambric. 

“ Put Old Glory round the candidate’s shoulders,” com¬ 
manded the president, and Hazel felt the soft folds being 
draped about her. 

“ There now, Lady-bird, you’re dressed as pretty as 
you’re ever goin’ to be; it don’t make a mite of difference 
whether you’re the Empress of Rooshy, or just plain every¬ 
day folks; ’n’ now you’ve got that rig on, we’re ready to 
give you the hand of fellowship. Markis, you have the 
floor.” 

“ What name does the candidate wish to be known by? ” 
asked March, with due gravity; then, forgetting his role, he 
added, “ You must take the name of some woman who has 
been just as brave as she could be.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 55 

Hazel, feeling the folds of the flag about her, suddenly 
recalled her favorite poem of Whittier's. 

“ Barbara Frietchie,” she said promptly and firmly. 

The various members shouted and cheered themselves 
hoarse before order was restored. 

“ What’d I tell you, Budd? ” said Chi, triumphantly; then 
there was another shout, for Chi had broken the rules in 
speaking thus. 

“ Two cents’ fine! ” shouted Budd, “ for speaking out of 
order in meeting.” 

“Sho! I forgot,” said Chi, humbly; “well, proceed.” 

“ Do you, Barbara Frietchie, pledge yourself to try to 
keep these by-laws ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Hazel, but rather tremulously. 

“ Well, then, we’ll put you to the test. Molly Stark will 
extend the first hand of fellowship to Barbara Frietchie — 
No, hold out your hand, Hazel; way out — don’t you draw 
it back that way! ” 

“ I didn’t,” retorted Hazel. 

“Yes, you did, I saw you!” 

“ You didn’t, either.” 

“ I did.” 

“ You didn’t.” 

“ I did, too.” 

“He didn’t, did he, Chi?” said Hazel, furious at this 
charge of apparent timidity. 

“ I don’t believe you drew it back even if March does 
think he saw you,” said Chi, pouring oil both ways on the 
troubled waters; “ ’n’ I never thought’t was just the thing 
for a boy to tell a girl she was a coward before she’d proved 
to be one — specially if he belongs to this Society.” 

The Marquis de Lafayette hung his head at this rebuke; 
but in the action his cocked hat of black and gilt paper 


56 A Daughter of the Rich 

lurched forward and drew off with it his white cotton-wool 
wig. Budd and Cherry, forgetting all rules, fines, and sense 
of propriety, rolled over and over at the sight; Rose sat 
down shaking with laughter, and even Chi lost his dignity. 

“ I wish you would let me see, or do something,” said 
Hazel, plaintively, when she could make herself heard. 

“ ’Tain’t fair to keep Hazel waiting so,” declared Budd, 
and the president called the meeting to order again. 

“ Put out your hand, Hazel,” said Rose. “ Now shake.” 

Hazel grasped a hand, cold, deathly cold, and clammy. 
The chill of the rigid fingers sent a corresponding shiver 
down the length of her backbone, and the goose-flesh rose 
all over her arms and legs. She thought she must shriek; 
but she recalled Chi’s words, set her teeth hard, and shook 
the awful thing with what strength she had, never uttering a 
sound. 

“ Bully for you, Hazel! I knew you’d show lots of 
pluck,” cried Budd. 

“ Got grit every time,” said Chi, proudly. “ Now let’s 
have the other test and get down to business. Guess all 
three of you’ll have to have a finger in this pie. Hurry up, 
Marthy Washin’ton! ” Cherry scuttled down the ladder, and 
in a few minutes labored, panting, up again. 

“ What did you bring two for ? ” demanded Budd. 

“ ’Cause March said ’t would balance me better on the 
ladder,” replied Cherry, innocently. At which explanation 
Chi laughed immoderately, much to Cherry’s discomfiture. 

“ Now, Hazel, roll up your sleeve and hold out your bare 
arm,” said the Marquis. Hazel obeyed, wondering what 
would come next. 

“ Here, Budd, you hold it; all ready, Cherry? ” 

“ Ye-es — wait a minute; now it’s all right.” 

“ This we call burning in the Society’s brand, — N. B. 


A Daughter of the Rich 57 

B. O. O.”; the voice of the Marquis was solemn, befitting 
the occasion. 

Hazel drew her breath sharply, uncertain whether to cry 
out or not. There was a sharp sting across her arm, as if 
a hot curlingdron had been drawn quickly across it; then 
a sound of sizzling flesh, and the odor of broiled beefsteak 
rose up just under her nostrils. 

There was a diabolical thud of falling flat-irons; Rose 
tore the bandage from Hazel’s eyes, and the bewildered can¬ 
didate for membership, when her eyes grew somewhat 
wonted to the dim light, found herself in a corner of the 
loft in the barn, with the elegant figure of the Marquis in 
cocked hat, white wig, yellow vest, blue coat, and yellow 
knee-breeches dancing frantically around her; Ethan Allen 
in white woollen shirt, red yarn suspenders, and red, white 
and blue striped trousers, turning back-hand somersaults on 
the hay; Chi standing at salute with his great-great-grand¬ 
father’s Revolutionary musket, his old straw hat decorated 
with a tricolor cockade, and Cherry in a white cotton-wool 
wig, a dark calico dress of her mother’s and a white necker¬ 
chief, flat on the floor beside two six-pound flat-irons. 

A piece of raw beef on a tin pan, some bits of ice, and a 
kid glove stuffed with ice and sawdust, lay scattered about. 
They told the tale of the initiation. 

“ Three cheers for Barbara Frietchie! ” shouted Budd, as 
he came right side up. The barn rang with them. 

“ Now we’ll give the right hand of true fellowship,” said 
Chi, rapping with the butt of his musket for order. 

Rose gave Hazel’s hand a squeeze. “ I’m so glad you’re 
to be one of us,” she said heartily; and Hazel squeezed 
back. 

March came forward, bowed low, and said, “ I apologize 
for my distrust of your pluck,” and held out his hand with 


58 A Daughter of the Rich 

a look in the flashing gray eyes that was not one of mockery; 
indeed, he looked glad, but never a word of welcome did he 
speak. 

“ I could flog that proud feller,” muttered Chi to him¬ 
self. 

Hazel hesitated a moment, then put out her hand a little 
reluctantly. March caught the gesture and her look. 

“ Oh, you’re not obliged to,” he said haughtily, and 
turned on his heel. But Hazel put her hand on his arm. 

“ I’m afraid we are both breaking some of the by-laws, 
March. I do want to shake hands, but I was thinking just 
then that you didn’t mean the apology — not really and 
truly; and if you did mean it, there was something else you 
needed to apologize for more than that! ” 

March flushed to the roots of his hair. Then his boy’s 
honor came to the rescue. 

“ I do want to now, Hazel — and forgive and forget, 
won’t you ? ” he said, with the winning smile he inherited 
from his father, but which he kept for rare occasions. 

Hazel put her hand in his, and felt that this had been 
worth waiting for. She knew that at last March had taken 
her in. 

Budd gripped with all his might, Cherry shook with two 
fingers, and Chi’s great hand closed over hers as tenderly 
as a woman’s would have done. 

This was Hazel’s initiation into the Nobody’s Business 
But Our Own Society. It was the second meeting of the 
year. 

“ Now, March, I’ll make you chairman and ask you to 
state the business of this meetin’, as you’ve called it. Must 
be mighty important ? ” 

“ It is,” replied March, gravely, all the fun dying out of 
his face. “You remember, all of you, — don’t you? — 


A Daughter of the Rich 59 

what mother told us that night she said Hazel was coming? ” 

“ Yes,” chorused the children. 

“ Well, I’ve been thinking and thinking ever since how 
I could help — ” 

“ So’ve I, March,” interrupted Rose. 

“ And I have, too,” said Budd. 

“ What’s all this mean? ” said Chi, somewhat astonished, 
for he had not known why the meeting had been called. 

“ Why, you see, Chi, we never knew till then that the 
farm had been mortgaged on account of father’s sickness, 
and that it had been so awful hard for mother all this 
year —” 

Chi cleared his throat. 

“ — And we want to do something to help earn. If we 
could earn just our own clothes and books and enough to 
pay for our schooling, it would be something.” 

“ Guess ’t would,” said Chi, clearing his throat again. 
“ Kind of workin’ out the third by-law, ain’t you?” 

“ Trying to,” answered March, with such sincerity in his 
voice that Chi’s throat troubled him for full a minute. 
“ And what I want to find out, without mother’s knowing it, 
or father either, is how we can earn enough for those things. 
If anybody’s got anything to say, just speak up.” 

“ What you goin’ to do with those Wyandottes? ” 

“ I knew you’d ask that, Chi. I’m going to raise a fine 
breed and sell the eggs at a dollar and a half for thirteen; 
but I can’t get any chicken-money till next fall, and no egg- 
money till next spring, and I want to begin now.” 

“ Hm — ” said Chi, taking off his straw hat and slowly 
scratching his head. “ Well,” he said after a pause in 
which all were thinking and no one talking, “ why don’t all 
of you go to work raisin’ chickens for next Thanksgivin’ ? ” 

“ By cracky! ” said Budd, “ we could raise three or four 


6o 


A Daughter of the Rich 

hundred, an’ fat ’em up, an’ make a pile, easy as nothing.” 

“ I don’t know about it’s bein ’so easy; but children have 
the time to tend ’em, and I don’t see why it won’t work, 
seein’ it’s a good time of year.” 

“ But where’ll we get the hens to set, Chi ? ” said March. 

“Oh, there’s enough of ’em settin’ round now on the bare 
boards,” Chi replied. 

“ Can I raise some, too? ” asked Hazel, rather timidly. 

“ Don’t know what there is to hinder,” said Chi, with a 
slow smile. 

“ And can I buy some hens for my very own ?” 

“ Why, of course you can; just say the word, ’n’ you ’n’ 
I’ll go settin’-hen hunting within a day or so.” 

“ Oh, what fun! ” cried Hazel, clapping her hands. “ But 
I want some that will sit and lay too, Chi; then I can sell' 
the eggs.” 

There was a shout of laughter, at which Hazel felt hurt. 

“ There now, Lady-bird, we won’t laugh at your city 
ways of lookin’ at things any more. The hens ain’t quite 
so accommodatin’ as that , but we’ll get some good setters 
first, ’n’ then see about the layin’ afterwards.” 

“ But, Chi, it will take such a lot of corn to fatten them. 
We don’t want to ask father for anything.” 

“ That’s right, Rose. Be independent as long as you 
can; I thought of that, too. Now, there’s a whole acre on 
the south slope I ploughed this spring, — nice, hot land, 
just right for corn-raisin’; ’n’ if you children’ll drop ’n” 
cover, I’ll help you with the hoein’ ’n’ cuttin’ ’n’ huskin’; 
’n’ you’ll have your corn for nothin’.” 

“ Good for you, Chi; we’ll do it, won’t we? ” cried March. 

“ You bet,” said Budd. 

“ I can pick berries,” said Rose, “ and we can always sell 
them at the Inn, or at Barton’s River.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 61 

“Yes, and we can begin in June,” said Cherry; “the 
pastures are just red with the wild strawberries, you know, 
Rose.” 

“ It's an awful sight of work to pick ’em,” said Budd, 
rather dubiously. 

“ Well, you can’t get your money without workin’, Budd; 
’n’ work don’t mean ‘ take it easy.’ ” 

“ I’m sure we can get twenty-five cents a quart for them 
right in the village. I’ve heard folks say they make the best 
preserve you can get, and you can’t buy them for love nor 
money,” said Rose. “ Mother makes beautiful ones.” 

“ Wasn’t that what we had last Sunday night when the 
minister was here to tea? ” asked Hazel. 

“ Yes,” said Rose. 

“ I never tasted any strawberries like them at home, and 
the housekeeper buys lots of jams and jellies in the fall.” 
Hazel thought hard for a minute. Suddenly she jumped 
to her feet, clapped her hands, and spun round and round 
like a top, crying out, “ I have it! I have it! ” 

The N. B. B. O. O. Society was amazed to see the new 
member perform in this lively manner, for Hazel had been 
rather quiet during the first month. Now she caught up her 
skirts with a dainty tilt, and danced the Highland Fling just 
to let her spirits out through her feet. Up and down the 
floor of the loft she charged, hands over her head, hands 
swinging her skirts, light as a fairy, bending, swaying, and 
bowing, till, with a big “ cheese,” she sat down almost 
breathless by Chi. Was this Hazel? The members of the 
N. B. B. O. O. looked at one another in amazement, and 
March’s eyes flashed again, as they had done once before 
during the afternoon. 

“ Now all listen to me,” she said, as if, after a month of 
silence, she had found her tongue. “ I’ve an idea, and when 


62 


A Daughter of the Rich 

I have one, papa says it’s worth listening to, — which isn’t 
often, I’m sure. We’ll pick the strawberries, and get Mrs. 
Blossom to show Rose how to do them up; and I’ll write 
tc papa and Doctor Heath’s wife and to our housekeeper 
and Cousin Jack, and see if they don’t want some of those 
delicious preserves that they can’t get in the city. I’ll find 
out from Mrs. Scott — that’s the housekeeper — how much 
she pays for a jar in New York, and then we’ll charge a 
ittle more for ours because the strawberries are a little 
arer. Aren’t there any other kinds of berries that grow 
ground here ? ” 

“Guess you’d better stop ’n’ take breath, Lady-bird; 
there’s a mighty lot of plannin’ in all that. What’d I tell 
you Budd? ” Chi asked again. 

Budd looked at Hazel in boyish admiration, but said 
nothing. 

“ I think that’s splendid, Hazel,” said Rose, “ if they’ll 
only want them.” 

“ I know they will; but are there any other berries ? ” 

“ Berries! I should think so; raspberries and blackberries 
by the bushel on the Mountain, and they say they’re the 
best anywhere round here,” said March. 

“ Oh, dear! ” sighed Cherry, “ I wish we could go to work 
right now.” 

“ Well, so you can,” said Chi, “only you can’t go berryin’ 
just yet. You can begin to drop that corn this very after¬ 
noon ; better be inside the ground pretty soon, with all those 
four hundred chickens waitin’ to join the Thanksgivin’ pro¬ 
cession.” 

“ Oh, Chi, you’re making fun of us,” laughed Rose. 

“ Don’t you believe it, Rose-pose; never was more in 
earnest in my life. Come along, ’n’ I’ll show you.” 












Planting the corn. 


Page 62. 


















































































































VIII 


A LIVELY CORRESPONDENCE 

It was a trial of patience to have to wait twenty-one days 
before the first of the “four hundred” could be expected to 
appear. 

“ You’ll have to be kind of careful ’bout steppin’ round in 
the dark, Mis’ Blossom, ’n’ you, too, Ben,” said Chi, “ for 
you’ll find a settin’ hen most anywheres nowadays.” 

Mrs. Blossom laughed. “ Oh, Chi, what dear children 
they are, even if they aren’t quite perfect.” 

“Can’t be beat,” replied Chi, earnestly. “Look at them 
now, will you ? ” 

Mrs. Blossom stepped out on the porch, and looked over 
to the south slope and the corn-patch. “ What if her father 
were to see her now! ” She laughed again, both at her 
thoughts and the sight. 

“ ’T would give him kind of a shock at first,” Chi chuckled, 
“ but he’d get over it as soon as he’d seen that face.” 

“ It is wonderful how she has improved. I shouldn’t 
be surprised if he came up here soon to see Hazel.” 

“ Well, he’ll find somethin’ worth lookin’ at. See there, 
now! ” 

The girls had been making scarecrows to protect the young 
corn, stuffing old shirts and trousers with hay and straw, 
while March and Budd had been getting ready the cross-tree 
frames. In dropping and covering the corn that Saturday 
afternoon after the initiation, the girls had found their 


64 A Daughter of the Rich 

skirts and petticoats not only in the way as they bent over 
their work, but greatly soiled by contact with the soft, damp 
loam. So they had begged to wear overalls of blue denim 
like Chi’s and the boys’. The request had been gladly 
granted. “ It will save no end of washing,” said Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, and forthwith made up three pairs on the machine. 

The girls found it great fun. They tucked in their petti¬ 
coats and buttoned down their shoulder-straps with right 
good will. Then Mr. Blossom presented them with broad, 
coarse straw hats, such as he and Chi used, and with these 
on their heads they rushed off to the corn-patch. There? 
now they were, — five good-looking boys with hands joined, 
dancing and capering around a scarecrow, that looked like a 
gentleman tramp gone entirely to seed, and singing at the 
top of their voices Budd’s favorite, “ I won’t play in your 
back yard.” 

At that very hour, when the gentleman scarecrow of the 
corn-patch was looking amiably, although slightly squint- 
eyed, out from under his tattered straw hat (for March 
had drawn rude features on the white cloth bag stuffed with 
cotton-wool which served for a head, and on it Rose had 
sewed skeins of brown yarn to imitate hair) at the antics 
of the five pairs of blue overalls, Mr. Clyde, having finished 
his nine o’clock breakfast, asked for the mail. 

“ Yes, Marse John ” (so Wilkins always called Mr. Clyde 
when they were alone), “ ’spect dere’s one from Miss Hazel 
by de feel an’ de smell.” 

Mr. Clyde smiled. “ How can you tell by the * feel and 
the smell,’ Wilkins?” 

“ Case it’s bunchy lake in de middle, an’ de vi’lets can’t 
hide dere bref.” 

“ Well, we’ll see,” said Mr. Clyde, willing to indulge his 


A Daughter of the Rich 65 

faithful servant’s childish curiosity. Wilkins busied himself 
quietly about the breakfast-room. 

As Mr. Clyde opened the envelope, the crushed blue and 
white violets fell out. Suddenly he burst into such a hearty 
laugh that Wilkins had hard work to suppress a sympathetic 
chuckle. 

“ I shall have to carry this letter over to the Doctor, 
Wilkins,” he said, still laughing. “ I shall be in time to find 
him a few minutes alone before office hours.” He rose 
from the table. 

Wilkins followed him out to give his coat a last touch with 
the brush; he was fearful Mr. Clyde might leave without 
revealing anything of the contents of the letter from his 
beloved Miss Hazel. 

“ ’Scuse me, Marse John,” he said in desperation, as Mr. 
Clyde went towards the front door, “ but Miss Hazel ain’t 
no wusser case yo’ goin’ to de Doctah’s ? ” 

“ Oh, Wilkins, I forgot; you want to know how Miss 
Hazel is. She is doing finely; as happy as a bird, and sends 
her love to you in a postscript. I think I’ll run up and see 
her soon.” 

Wilkins ducked and beamed. “ ’Pears lake dis yere house 
ain’t de same place wif de little missus gone.” 

“ You’re right, Wilkins,” said Mr. Clyde, earnestly. “ I 
shall not open the Newport cottage this year; it would be 
too lonesome without her.” 

“ Well, Dick,” he said gayly, as he entered the Doctor’s 
office, “ I shall hold you responsible for some of the lives 
of the ‘ Four Hundred.’ Here, read this letter.” 

Mount Hunger, Mill Settlement, Barton’s 
River, Vermont, May 19, 1896. 

Dearest Papa, — Good-morning! I am answering your long 
letter a little sooner than I expected to, because I want you to do 


66 A Daughter of the Rich 

something for me in a business way; that’s the way March says 
it must be. 

I don’t know how to begin to tell you, but I’ve joined the 
N. B. B. O. O. Society and one of the by-laws is that we must 
help others all we can and just as much as we can. I wish you’d 
been at the initiashun. (I don’t know about that spelling, and 
I’m in a hurry, or I’d ask.) I had the hand of fellowship from 
a supposed corpse’s hand first, and then I was branded on the 
arm. And afterwards they all took me in, and now we’re raising 
four hundred chickens to help others; I’ll tell you all about it 
when you come. Chi, that’s the hired man, but he is really our 
friend, took me sitting-hen hunting day before yesterday, for I 
am to own some myself; and we drove all over the hills to the farm¬ 
houses and found and bought twelve, or rather Chi did, for I had 
to borrow the money of him, as I felt so bad when I kissed you 
good-bye that I forgot to tell you my quarterly allowance was 
all gone, and I know you won’t like my borrowing of Chi, for 
you have said so many times never to owe anybody and I’ve always 
tried to pay for everything except when I had to borrow of 
Gabrielle, or Mrs. Scott, when I forgot my purse. 

But truly the hens were in such an awful hurry to sit, that 
it did seem too bad to keep them waiting even three days till 
I could get some money from you; and then, too, we’ve all of us, 
March and Rose and Budd and Cherry and me, bet on which 
hen would get the first chicken, and that chicken is going to be 
a prize chicken and especially fatted, and of course, if I waited 
for the money to come from you, I couldn’t stand a chance of 
coming out ahead in our four hundred chicken race, so I borrowed 
of Chi. The hens came to just $4 and eighty cents. I’ll pay you 
back when I earn it, and don’t you think it would have been a pity 
to lose the chance for the prize chicken just for that borrow? 

Please send the money by return mail. I’ve other letters to 
write, so please excuse my not paragraphing and so little punctua¬ 
tion, but I’ve so much to do and this must go at once. 

Your loving and devoted daughter, 

Hazel Clyde. 

P. S. The hens are sitting around everywhere. Give my love 
to Wilkins. H. C. 

The Doctor shouted; then he stepped to the dining-room 
door and called, “ Wifie, come here and bring that letter.” 

Mrs. Heath came in smiling, with a letter in her hand, 
which, after cordially greeting Mr. Clyde, she read to him, 
— an amazed and outwitted father. 


A Daughter of the Rich 67 

Mount Hunger, Mill Settlement, Barton’s 
River, Vermont, May 19, 1896. 

My dear Mrs. Heath, — Please thank my dear Doctor Heath 
for the note he sent me two weeks ago. I ought to write to him 
instead of to you, for I don’t owe you a letter (your last one was 
so sweet I answered it right off), but he never allows his patients 
strawberry preserve and jam, so it would be no use to ask his 
help just now, as this is pure business, March says. 

We are trying to help others, and the strawberries — wild ones 
— are as thick as spatter — going to be — all over the pastures, 
and we’re going to pick quarts and quarts, and Rose is going to 
preserve them, and then we’re going to sell them. 

Do you think of anybody who would like some of this preserve ? 
If you do, will you kindly let me know by return mail? 

I can’t tell just the price, and March says that is a great draw¬ 
back in real business, and this is real — but it will not be more 
than $1 and twenty-five cents a quart. They will be fine for 
luncheon. I never tasted any half so good at home. 

My dear love to the Doctor and a large share for yourself from 
Your loving friend, 

Hazel Clyde. 

P. S. Rose says it isn’t fair for people to order without know¬ 
ing the quality, so we’ve done up a little of Mrs. Blossom’s in 
some Homeepatic (I don’t know where that “h” ought to come in) 
pellet bottles, and will send you a half-dozen “for samples,” 
March says, to send to any one to taste you think would like to 
order. H. C. 

“ The cure is working famously,” said Doctor Heath, 
rubbing his hands in glee. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Clyde, laughing, “ I may as well make 
the best of it; but I can’t help wondering whether the 
wholesale grocers in town have been asked to place orders 
with Mount Hunger, or the Washington Market dealers for 
prospective chickens! There’s your office-bell; I won’t keep 
you longer, but if this ‘ special case ’ of yours should de¬ 
velop any new symptoms, just let me know.” 

“ I’ll keep you informed,” rejoined the Doctor. “ Better 
run up there pretty soon, Johnny,” he called after him. 


68 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I think it’s high time, Dick. Good-bye.” 

At that very moment, a symptom of another sort was 
developing in Z-Hall, Number 9, at Harvard. 

Jack Sherrill and his chum were discussing the last eve¬ 
ning’s Club theatricals. “ I saw that pretty Maude Seaton 
in the third or fourth row, Jack; did she come on for that, 
— which, of course, means you ? ” 

“ Wish I might think so,” said Jack, half in earnest, half 
in jest, pulling slowly at his corn-cob pipe. 

“ By Omar Khayyam, Jack; you don’t mean to say you’re 
hit, at last! ” 

“ Hit, — yes; but it’s only a flesh-wound at present, — 
nothing dangerous about it.” 

“ She’s got the style, though, and the pull. I know a 
half-dozen of the fellows got dropped on to-night’s cotillion.” 

“ Kept it for me,” said Jack quietly. 

“No, really, though—” and his chum fell to thinking 
rather seriously for him. 

Just then came the morning’s mail, — notes, letters, special 
delivery stamps, all the social accessories a popular Harvard 
man knows so well. Jack looked over his carelessly, — in¬ 
vitations to dinner, to theatre parties, “ private views,” golf 
parties, etc. He pushed them aside, showing little interest. 
He, like his Cousin Hazel, was used to it. 

The morning’s mail was an old story, for Sherrill was 
worth a fortune in his own right, as several hundred mothers 
and daughters in New York and Boston and Philadelphia 
knew full well. 

Moreover, if he had not had a penny in prospect, Jack 
Sherrill would have attracted by his own manly qualities 
and his exceptionally good looks. His riches, to which he 
had been born, had not yet wholly spoiled him, but they 
cheated him of that ambition that makes the best of young 



A Daughter of the Rich 69 

manhood, and Life was out of tune at times — how and 
why, he did not know, and there was no one to tell him. 

He had rather hoped for a note from Maude Seaton, 
thanking him, in her own charming way, for the flowers he 
had sent her on her arrival from New York the day before. 
True, she had worn some in her corsage, but, for all Jack 
knew, they might have been another man’s; for Maude 
Seaton was never known to have less than four or five 
strings to her bow. It was just this uncertainty about her 
that attracted Jack. 

“ Hello! Here’s a letter for you by mistake in my pile,” 
said his chum. 

“ Why, this is from my little Cousin Hazel, who is rusti¬ 
cating just now somewhere in the Green Mountains.” Jack 
opened it hastily and read, — 

Mount Hunger, Mill Settlement, Barton’s 
River, Vermont, May 19, 1896. 

Dearest Cousin Jack, — It is perfectly lovely up here, and I’ve 
been inishiated into a Secret Society like your Dicky Club, and 
one of the by-laws is to help others all we can and wherever we 
can and as long as ever we can, and so I’ve thought of that nice 
little spread you gave last year after the foot-ball game, and how 
nice the table looked and what good things you had, but I don’t 
remember any strawberry jam or preserves, do you? 

We’re hatching four hundred chickens to help others, — I mean 
we have set 40 sitting hens on 520 eggs, not all the 40 on the 
five hundred and twenty at once, you know; but, I mean, each 
one of the 40 hens are sitting on 13 eggs apiece, and March says 
we must expect to lose 120 eggs — I mean, chickens, — as the 
hens are very careless and sit sideways — I’ve seen them myself 
— and so an extra egg is apt to get chilly, and the chickens can’t 
stand any chilliness, March says. But Chi, that’s my new friend, 
says some eggs have a double yolk, and maybe, there’ll be some 
twins to make up for the loss. 

Anyway, we want 400 chickens to sell about Thanksgiving 
time, and, of course, we can’t get any money till that time. So 
now I’ve got back to your spread again and the preserves, and 
while we’re waiting for the chickens, we are going to make pre- 


yo A Daughter of the Rich 


serves — dee -licious ones ! I mean we are going to pick them and 
Rose is going to preserve them. We’ve decided to ask $i and a 
quarter a quart for them; Rose — that’s Rose Blossom — says it is 
dear, but if you could see my Rose-pose, as Chi calls her, you’d 
think it cheap just to eat them if she made them. She’s perfectly 
lovely — prettier than any of the New York girls, and when she 
kneads bread and does up the dishes, she sings like a bird, some¬ 
thing about love. I’ll write it down for you, sometime. I'm in 
love with her. 

Please ask your college friends if they don’t want some jam 
and wild strawberry preserves. If they do, March says they had 
better order soon, as I’ve written to New York to see about some 
other orders. 


Yours devotedly, 


Hazel. 


P. S. I’ve sent you a sample of the strawberry preserve in a 
homeepahtic pellet bottle, to taste; Rose says it isn’t fair to 
ask people to buy without their knowing what they buy. I saw 
that Miss Seaton just before I came away; she came to call on me 
and brought some flowers. She said I looked like you — which 
was an awful whopper because I had my head shaved, as you 
know; I asked her if she had heard from you, and she said she 
had. She isn’t half as lovely as Rose-pose. H. C. 


IX 


THE PRIZE CHICKEN 

There was wild excitement, as well as consternation, in 
the farmhouse on the Mountain. 

On the next day but one after Hazel had sent her letters, 
Chi had brought up from the Mill Settlement a telegram 
which had come on the stage from Barton’s. It was ad¬ 
dressed to, “ Hazel Clyde, Mill Settlement, Barton’s River, 
Vermont,” and ran thus : — 

Cambridge, May 20, 1 p.m. 

Hope to get in our order ahead of New York time. Seventeen 
dozen of each kind. Letter follows. 

Jack. 

“ Seventeen dozen! ” screamed Rose, on hearing the 
telegram. 

“ Seventeen dozen of each kind! ” cried Budd. 

“ Oh, quick, March, do see what it comes to! ” said Hazel. 

Then such an arithmetical hubbub broke loose as had 
never been heard before on the Mountain. 

“ Seventeen times twelve,” said Rose, — “ let me see; 
seven times two are fourteen, one to carry — do keep still, 
March! ” But March went on with: —r 

“ Twelve times four are forty-eight — seventeen times 
forty-eight, hm — seven times eight are fifty-six, five to 
carry— Shut up, Budd; I can’t hear myself think.” But 
Budd gave no heed, and continued his computation. 

“ Four times seventeen are — four times seven are 


72 A Daughter of the Rich 

twenty-eight, two to carry; four times one are four and two 
are — I say, you’ve put me all out! ” shouted Budd, and, 
putting his fingers to his ears, he retired to a corner. Rose 
continued to mumble with her eyes shut to concentrate her 
mind upon her problem, threatening Cherry impatiently 
when she interrupted with her peculiar solution, which she 
had just thought out: —- 

“If one quart cost one dollar and twenty-five cents, twelve 
quarts will cost twelve times one dollar and twenty-five cents, 
which is, er — twelve times one are twelve; twelve times 
twenty-five! Oh, gracious, that’s awful! What’s twelve 
times twenty-five, March ? ” 

“Shut up,” growled March; “you’ve put me all off the 
track.” 

“ Me, too,” said Rose, in an aggrieved tone. 

Mrs. Blossom had been listening from the bedroom, and 
now came in, suppressing her desire to smile at the reddened 
and perplexed faces. “ Here’s a pencil, March, suppose you 
figure it out on paper.” 

A sigh of relief was audible throughout the room, as 
March sat down to work out the result. “ Eight hundred 
and sixteen quarts at one dollar twenty-five a quart,” said 
March to himself; then, with a bound that shook the long- 
room, he shouted, “ One thousand and twenty dollars! ” and 
therewith broke forth into singing:— 

“ Glory, glory, halleluia! 

Glory, glory, halleluia! 

Glory, glory, halleluia, 

For the N. B. B. O. O.! ” 

The rest joined in the singing with such goodwill that the 
noise brought in Chi from the barn. When he was told the 
reason for the rejoicing, he looked thoughtful, then sober, 
then troubled. 


A Daughter of the Rich 73 

“What’s the matter, Chi? Cheer up! You haven’t got 
to pick them,” said March. 

“ ’Tain’t that; but I hate to throw cold water on any such 
countin’-your-chickens-’fore-they’re-hatched business,” said 
Chi. 

“ ’T isn’t chickens; it’s preserves, Chi,” laughed Rose. 

“ I know that, too,” said Chi, gravely. “ But suppose you 
do a little figuring on the hind-side of the blackboard.” 

“ What do you mean, Chi ? ” asked Hazel. 

“ Well, I’ll figure, ’n’ see what you think about it. Seven¬ 
teen dozen times four, how much, March?” 

“ Eight hundred and sixteen.” 

“ Hm! eight hundred and sixteen glass jars at twelve and 
a half cents apiece — let me see: eight into eight once; eight 
into one no times ’n’ one over. There now, your jars’ll cost 
you just one hundred and two dollars.” 

There was a universal groan. 

“ ’N’ that ain’t all. Sugar’s up to six cents a pound, ’n’ to 
keep preserves as they ought to be kept takes about a pound 
to a quart. Hm, eight hundred ’n’ sixteen pounds of sugar 
at six cents a pound — move up my point ’n’ multiply by 
six — forty-eight dollars ’n’ ninety-six cents; added to the 
other — ” 

“ Oh, don’t, Chi! ” groaned one and all. 

“ It spoils everything,” said Rose, actually ready to cry 
with disappointment. 

“ Well, Molly Stark, you’ve got to look forwards and 
backwards before you promise to do things,” said Chi, 
serenely; and Rose, hearing the Molly Stark, knew just what 
Chi meant. 

She went straight up to him, and, laying both hands on 
his shoulders, looked up smiling into his face. “ I’ll be 
brave, Chi; we’ll make it work somehow,” she said gently; 


74 A Daughter of the Rich 

and Chi was not ashamed to take one of the little hands and 
rub it softly against his unshaven cheek. 

“ That’s my Rose-pose,” he said. “ Now, don’t let’s 
cross the bridges till we get to them; let’s wait till we hear 
from New York.” 

They had not long to wait. The next day’s mail brought 
three. letters, — from Mrs. Heath, Mr. Clyde, and Jack. 
Hazel could not read them fast enough to suit her audience. 
There was an order from Mrs. Heath for two dozen of each 
kind, and the assurance that she would ask her friends, but 
she would like her order filled first. 

Mr. Clyde wrote that he was coming up very soon and 
would advance Hazel’s quarterly allowance; at which Hazel 
cried, “Oh-ee! ” and hugged first herself, then Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, but said not a word. She wanted to surprise them 
with the glass jars and the sugar. Her father had enclosed 
five dollars with which to pay Chi, and he and Hazel were 
closeted for full a quarter of an hour in the pantry, discuss¬ 
ing ways and means. 

Jack wrote enthusiastically of the preserves and chickens, 
and, like Hazel, added a postscript as follows: 

“ Don’t forget you said you would write down for me 
the song about Love that Miss Blossom sings when she is 
kneading bread. Miss Seaton is just now visiting in Boston. 
I’m to play in a polo match out at the Longmeadow grounds 
next week, and she stays for that.” This, likewise, Hazel 
kept to herself. 

Meanwhile, the strawberry blossoms were starring the 
pastures, but only here and there a tiny green button showed 
itself. It was a discouraging outlook for the other Blossoms 
to wait five long weeks before they could begin to earn 
money; and the thought of the chickens, especially the prize 


A Daughter of the Rich 75 

chicken, proved a source of comfort as well as speculation. 

As the twenty-first day after setting the hens drew near, 
the excitement of the race was felt to be increasing. Hazel 
had tied a narrow strip of blue flannel about the right leg 
of each of her twelve hens, that there might be no mistake; 
and the others had followed her example, March choosing 
yellow; Cherry, white; Rose, red; and Budd, green. 

The barn was near the house, only a grass-plat with one 
big elm in the centre separated it from the end of the wood¬ 
shed. As Chi said, the hens were sitting all around every¬ 
where; on the nearly empty hay-mow there were some 
twenty-five, and the rest were in vacant stalls and feed-boxes. 

It was a warm night in early June. Hazel was thinking 
over many things as she lay wakeful in her wee bedroom. 
To-morrow was the day; somebody would get the prize 
chicken. Hazel hoped she might be the winner. Then she 
recalled something Chi had said about hens being curious 
creatures, set in their ways, and never doing anything just 
as they were expected to do it, and that there wasn’t any 
time-table by which chickens could be hatched to the minute. 
What if one were to come out to-night! The more she 
thought, the more she longed to assure herself of the con¬ 
dition of things in the barn. She tossed and turned, but 
could not settle to sleep. At last she rose softly; the great 
clock in the long-room had just struck eleven. She looked 
out of her one window into the face of a moon that for a 
moment blinded her. 

Then she quietly put on her white bath-robe, and, taking 
her shoes in her hand, stepped noiselessly out into the 
kitchen. 

There was not a sound in the house except the ticking 
of the clock. Softly she crept to the woodshed door and 
slipped out. 


76 A Daughter of the Rich 

Chi, who had the ears of an Indian, heard the soft “ crush, 
crush,” of the bark and chips underneath his room. He rose 
noiselessly, drew on his trousers, and slipped his suspendersj 
over his shoulders, took his rifle from the rack, and crept 
stealthily as an Apache down the stairs. Chi thought he 
was on the track of an enormous woodchuck that had baffled 
all his efforts to trap, shoot, and decoy him, as well as his 
attempts to smoke and drown him out. But nothing was 
moving in or about the shed. He stepped outside, puzzled as 
to the noise he had heard. 

“ By George Washin’ton! ” he exclaimed under his breath, 
“ what’s up now? ” for he had caught sight of a little figure 
in white fairly scooting over the grass-plat under the elm 
towards the barn. In a moment she disappeared in the open¬ 
ing, for on warm nights the great doors were not shut. 

“ Guess I’d better get out of the way; ’t would scare her 
to death to see a man ’n’ a gun at this time of night. It’s 
that prize chicken, I’ll bet.” And Chi chuckled to himself. 
Then he tiptoed as far as the barn door, looked in cautiously, 
and, seeing no one, but hearing a creak overhead, he slipped 
into a stall and crouched behind a pile of grass he had cut 
that afternoon for the cattle. 

He heard the feet go “ pat, pat, pat,” overhead. He 
knew by the sounds that Hazel was examining the nests. 
Then another noise — Cherry’s familiar giggle — fell upon 
his ear. He looked out cautiously from behind the grass. 
Sure enough; there were the twins, robed in sheets and! 
barefooted. Snickering and giggling, they made for the 
ladder leading to the loft. 

“ The Old Harry’s to pay to-night,” said Chi, grimly, to 
himself. “ When those two get together on a spree, things 
generally hum! I’d better stay where I’m needed most.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 77 

Hazel, too, had caught the sound of the giggle and snicker, 
and recognized it at once. 

“ Goodness!” she thought, “ if they should see me, ’t 
would frighten Cherry into fits, she’s so nervous. I’d better 
hide while they’re here. They’ve come to see about that 
chicken, just as I have! ” Hazel had all she could do to keep 
from laughing out loud. She lay down upon a large pile 
of hay and drew it all over her. “ They can’t see me now, 
and I can watch them,” she thought, with a good deal of 
satisfaction. 

Surely the proceedings were worth watching. The moon¬ 
light flooded the flooring of the loft, and every detail could 
be plainly seen. 

“ Nobody can hear us here if we do talk,” said Budd. 
“ You’ll have to hoist them up first, to see if there are 
any chickens, and be sure and look at the rag on the legs; 
when you come to a green one, it’s mine, you know.” 

“ Oh, Budd! I can’t hoist them,” said Cherry, in a dis¬ 
tressed voice. 

“ They do act kinder queer,” replied Budd, who was 
trying to lift a sleeping hen off her nest, to which she seemed 
glued. “ I’ll tell you what’s better than that; just put your 
ear down and listen, and if you hear a ‘ peep-peep,’ it’s a 
chicken.” 

Cherry, the obedient slave of Budd, crawled about over 
the flooring on her hands and knees, listening first at one 
nest, then at another, for the expected “ peep-peep.” 

“ I don’t hear anything,” said Cherry, in an aggrieved 
tone, “ but the old hens guggling when I poke under them. 
Oh! but here’s a green rag sticking out, Budd.” 

“ And a speckled hen? ” said Budd, eagerly. 

“ Yes.” 


78 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Well, that’s the one I’ve been looking for; it’s dark over 
here in this corner. Lemme see.” 

Budd put both hands under the hen and lifted her gently. 
“ Ak — ok — ork — ach,” gasped the hen, as Budd took 
her firmly around the throat; but she was too sleepy to care 
much what became of her, and so hung limp and silent. 

“ I’ll hold the hen, Cherry, and you take up those eggs 
one at a time and hold them to my ear.” 

“ What for ? ” said Cherry. 

“ Now don’t be a loony, but do as I tell you,” said Budd, 
impatiently. Cherry did as she was bidden; Budd listened 
intently. 

“ By cracky! there’s one! ” he exclaimed. “ Here, help 
me set this hen back again, and keep that one out.” 

“ What for ? ” queried Cherry, forgetting her former 
lesson. 

“ Oh, you ninny! — here, listen, will you ? ” Budd put 
the egg to her ear. 

“ Why, that’s a chicken peeping inside. I can hear him,” 
said Cherry, in an awed voice. 

“ Yes, and I’m going to let him out,” said Budd, triumph¬ 
antly. 

“ But then you’ll have the prize chicken, Budd,” said 
Cherry, rather dubiously, for she had wanted it herself. 

“Of course, you goosey, what do you suppose I came out 
here for?” demanded Budd. 

“ But, Budd, will it be fair ? ” said Cherry, timidly. 

“Fair!” muttered Budd; “it’s fair enough if it’s out 
first. It’s their own fault if they don’t know enough to get 
ahead of us.” 

“Did you think it all out yourself, Budd?” queried 
Cherry, admiringly, watching Budd’s proceeding with wide- 
open eyes. 


79 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Yup,” said Budd shortly. 

They were not far from Hazel’s hiding-olace, and by 
raising her head a few inches, she could see the whole 
process. 

First Budd listened intently at one end of the egg, then 
at the other. He drew out a large pin from his pajamas and 
began very carefully to pick the shell. 

“ Oh, gracious, Budd! what are you doing? ” cried Cherry. 

“ What you see,” said Budd, a little crossly, for his con¬ 
science was not wholly at ease. 

He picked and picked, and finally made an opening. He 
examined it carefully. 

“ Oh, thunder! ” he exclaimed under his breath, “ I’ve 
picked the wrong end.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” persisted Cherry. 

“ I wanted to open the 4 peep-peep ’ end first, so he could 
breathe,” replied Budd, intent upon) his wtfrk. Cherty 
watched breathlessly. At last the other end was opened, 
and Budd began to detach the shell from something which 
might have been a worm, a fish, a pollywog, or a baby white 
mouse, for all it looked like a chicken. It lay in Budd’s hand. 

“ Oh, Budd, you’ve killed it! ” cried Cherry, beginning to 
sniff. 

“ Shut up, Cherry Blossom, or I’ll leave you,” threatened 
Budd. Just then the moon was obscured by a passing cloud, 
and the loft became suddenly dark and shadowy. Cherry 
screamed upder her breath. 

“ Oh, Budd, don’t leave me; I can’t see you! ” 

There was a soft rapid stride over the flooring; and before 
Budd well knew what had happened, he was seized by the 
binding of his pajamas, lifted, and shaken with such vigor 
that his teeth struck together and he felt the jar in the top 
of his head. 


80 A Daughter of the Rich 

As the form loomed so unexpectedly before her, Cherry 
screamed with fright. 

“I’ll teach you to play a business trick like this on us, 
you mean sneaking little rascal! ” roared March. “ Do you 
think I didn’t see you creeping out of the room along the 
side of my bed on all fours? You didn’t dare to walk out 
like a man, and I might have known you were up to 
no good! ” Another shake followed that for a moment 
dazed Budd. Then, as he felt the flooring beneath his feet, 
he turned in a towering passion of guilt and rage on March. 

“ You’re a darned sneak yourself,” he howled rather than 
cried. “ Take that for your trouble! ” Raising his doubled 
fist, he aimed a quick, hard blow at March’s stomach. But, 
somehow, before it struck, one strong hand — not March’s 
— held his as in a vice, and another, stronger, hoisted him 
by the waist-band of his pajamas and held him, squirming 
and howling, suspended for a moment; then he felt himself 
tossed somewhere. He fell upon the hay under which Hazel 
had taken refuge, and landed upon her with almost force 
enough to knock the breath from her body. Cherry, mean¬ 
while, had not ceased screaming under her breath, and, as 
Budd descended so unexpectedly upon Hazel, a great groan 
and a sharp wail came forth from the hay, to the mortal 
terror of all but Chi, who grew white at the thought of what 
might have happened to his Lady-bird, and, unintentionally, 
through him. 

That awful groan proved too much for the children. 
Gathering themselves together in less time than it takes to 
tell it, they fled as well as they could in the dark, — down 
the ladder, out through the barn, over the grass-plat, into 
the house, and dove into bed, trembling in every limb. 

“ What on earth is the matter, children ? ” said Mrs. Bios- 


A Daughter of the Rich 81 

som, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “ Did one of you 
fall out of bed? ” 

Budd’s head was under the bedclothes, his teeth chattering 
through fear; likewise Cherry. March assumed as firm a 
tone as he could. 

“ Budd had a sort of nightmare, mother, but he’s all 
right now.” March felt sick at the deception. 

“ Well, settle down now and go to sleep; it’s just twelve.” 
And Mrs. Blossom went back into the bedroom where Mr. 
Blossom was still soundly sleeping. 

Meanwhile, Chi was testing Hazel to see that no harm 
had been done. 

“ Oh, I’m all right,” said Hazel, rather breathlessly. 
“ But it really knocked the breath out of my body.” She 
laughed. “ I never thought of your catching up Budd that 
way and plumping him down on top of me! ” 

“ Guess my wits had gone wool-gatherin’, when I never 
thought of your hidin’ there,” said Chi, recovering from his 
fright. “ But that boy made me so pesky mad, tryin’ to play 
such a game on all of us, that I kind of lost my temper ’n’ 
didn’t see straight. Well — ” he heaved a sigh of relief, 
“ he’s got his come-uppance! ” 

“ Where do you suppose that poor little chicken is ? ” 

“ We’ll look him up; the moon’s cornin’ out again.” 
There, close by the nest, lay the queer something on the 
floor. “ I’ll tuck it in right under the old hen’s breast, ’n’ 
then, if there’s any life in it, it’ll come to by mornin’.” He 
examined it closely. “ I’ll come out ’n’ see. Come, we’d 
better be gettin’ in ’fore’t is dark again — ” 

He put the poor mite of a would-be chicken carefully 
under the old hen, where it was warm and downy, and as 
he did so, he caught sight of the rag hanging over the edge 


82 A Daughter of the Rich 

of the nest. He looked at it closely; then slapping his thigh, 
he burst into a roar of laughter. 

“What is it, Chi?” said Hazel, laughing, too, at Chi’s 
mirth. 

“Look here, Lady-bird! you’ve got the Prize Chicken, 
after all. That boy couldn’t tell green from blue in the 
moonlight, ’n’ he’s hatched out one of yours. By George 
Washin’ton! that’s a good one, — serves him right,” he 
said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. 

The chicken lived, but never seemed to belong to any 
one in particular; and as Chi said solemnly the next morning, 
“ The less said on this Mountain about prize chickens, the 
better it’ll be for us all.” 


AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 


It was a busy summer in and about the farmhouse on 
Mount Hunger. What with tending the chickens — there 
were four hundred and two in all — and strawberry-picking 
and preserving, and in due season a repetition of the process 
with raspberries and blackberries, the days seemed hardly 
long enough to accomplish all the young people had planned. 

Mr. Clyde came up for two days in June, and upon his 
return told Doctor Heath that he, too, felt as if he needed 
that kind of a cure. 

Hazel was the picture of health and fast becoming what 
Chi had predicted, “ an A Number i ” beauty. Her dark 
eyes sparkled with the joy of life; on her rounded cheeks 
there was the red of the rose; the skull-cap had been dis¬ 
carded, and a fine crop of soft, silky rings of dark brown hair 
had taken its place. 

“ Never, no, never, have I had such good times,” she 
wrote to her Cousin Jack at Newport. “We eat on the 
porch, and make believe camp out in the woods, and we ride 
on Bess and Bob all over the Mountain. We’ve about fin¬ 
ished the preserves and jams, and Rose has only burnt 
herself twice. The chickens, Chi says, are going to be 
prime ones; it’s awfully funny to see them come flying 
and hopping and running towards us the minute they see 
us — March says it’s the * Charge of the Light Brigade.’ 

“ I wish you could be up here and have some of the fun, 


84 zf Daughter of the Rich 

— but I’m afraid you’re too old. I enclose the song Rose 
sings which you asked me for. I don’t understand it, but 
it’s perfectly beautiful when she sings it.” 

Hazel had asked Rose for the words of the song, telling 
her that her Cousin Jack at Harvard would like to have 
them. Rose looked surprised for a moment. 

“ What can he want of them ? ” she asked in a rather 
dignified manner; and Hazel, thinking she was giving the 
explanation the most reasonable as well as agreeable, re¬ 
plied : — 

“ I don’t know for sure, but I think — you won’t tell, will 
you, Rose ? ” 

“Of course I won’t. I don’t even know your cousin, to 
begin with.” 

“ I think he is going to be engaged, or is, to Miss Seaton 
of New York. All his friends think she is awfully pretty, 
and papa says she is fascinating. I think Jack wanted them 
to give to her.” 

“ Oh,” said Rose, in a cool voice with a circumflex in¬ 
flection, then added in a decidedly toploftical tone, “ I’ve 
no objection to his making use of them. I’ll copy them for 
you.” 

“ Thank you, Rose,” said Hazel, rather puzzled and a 
little hurt at Rose’s new manner. 

This conversation took place the first week in August, 
and the verses were duly forwarded to Jack, who read them 
over twice, and then, thrusting them into his breast-pocket, 
went over to the Casino, whistling softly to himself on 
the way. There, meeting his chum and some other friends, 
he proposed a riding-trip through the Green Mountain re¬ 
gion for the latter part of August. 

“ The Colonel and his wife will go with us, I’m sure, 
and any of the girls who can ride well will jump at the 


A Daughter of the Rich 85 

chance,” said his chum. “ It’s a novelty after so much 
coaching.” 

“ I’ll go over and see Miss Seaton about it,” said Jack, 
and walked off singing to himself, — 

“ ‘ — the stars above 
Shine ever on Love * — ” 

His friend turned to the others. “ That’s a go; I’ve 
never seen Sherrill so hard hit before.” Then he fell to 
discussing the new plan with the rest. 

Jack was wily enough, as he laid the plan before Maude 
Seaton, to attempt to kill two birds with one stone. He 
had had a desire, ever since the first letter of Hazel’s, to 
see his little cousin in her new surroundings, and this 
desire was immeasurably strengthened by his curiosity to 
see a girl who sang Barry Cornwall’s love-lyrics on Mount' 
Hunger. Consequently, in planning the high-roads to be 
followed through the Green Mountains, he had not omitted 
to include Barton’s River, as it boasted a good inn. 

“ Here’s Woodstock, — just here,” he explained to pretty 
Maude Seaton as they sat on the broad morning-porch of 
the palatial Newport cottage, with a map of Vermont on 
the table between them. “We can stop there a day or two, 
and make our next stop at Barton’s River; I’ve heard it’s a 
beautiful place, with glorious mountain rides within easy dis¬ 
tance. Suppose we arrange to stop three or four days there 
and take it all in? I’ve been told it’s the finest river-valley 
in New England.” 

“ Oh, do let’s! The whole thing is going to be delightful. 
I’m so tired of coaching; I believe nobody enjoys it now, 
unless it’s the one who holds the reins, and then all the 
others are bored. But with fine horses this will be no end 
of fun. We can send on our trunks ahead, can’t we? ” 


86 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Oh, yes, that’s easily arranged. By the way, what horse 
will you take? Remember,” he said, looking her squarely 
in the eyes with a flattering concern, “ it’s a mountain coun¬ 
try, and we can’t afford to have anything happen to you.” 

“ No danger for me,” laughed Maude, meeting his look as 
squarely. “ And I can’t worry about you after seeing the 
polo game you played yesterday,” she added with frank 
admiration. 

“ It was a good one, wasn’t it? ” said Jack, his eyes kind¬ 
ling at the remembrance. “ It was my mascot did the 
business — see?” He put his hand in his breast-pocket, 
expecting to draw forth a ribbon bow of Maude’s that she 
had given him for “ colors ”; but, to his amazement, and to 
Miss Seaton’s private chagrin, he drew forth only the slip 
of paper with Barry Cornwall’s love-song in Rose Blossom’s 
handwriting. 

Where the dickens was that bow ? Jack felt the absurdity 
of hunting in all his pockets for something he had intended 
should express one phase, at least, of his sentiments. He felt 
the blood mounting to the roots of his hair, and, laughing, 
put a bold face on it. 

He held out the slip of paper. “ It looks innocent, doesn’t 
it? ” he said mischievously, and enjoyed to the full Maude’s 
look of discomfiture, which, only for a second, she could not 
help showing. “ She’ll know now how a fellow feels when 
he has sent her flowers and sees her wearing another man’s 
offering,” he thought. He turned to the map again. 

“Well, what horse will you ride?” 

“ I’ll take Old Jo; he’s safe, and splendid for fences. Of 
course you’ll take Little Shaver ? ” 

“ Yes, he and I don’t part company very often. So it’s 
settled, is it?” he asked, feeling cooler than he did. 


A Daughter of the Rich 87 

“ So far as I am concerned, it is; and I know the Colonel 
and Mrs. Fenlick will go; it’s just the thing they like.” 

“ Well, I’ll leave you to speak to the other girls, and I’ll 
go over and see Mrs. Fenlick. Good-bye.” He held out 
his hand, but Miss Seaton chose to be looking down the 
avenue at that moment. 

“ Oh, there are the Graysons beckoning to me! ” she ex¬ 
claimed eagerly. “ Excuse me, and good-bye — I must 
run down to see them.” As she walked swiftly and grace¬ 
fully over the lawn, she knew Jack Sherrill was watching 
her. “ Yes, it’s settled,” she thought, as she hurried on; 
“and something else is settled, too, Mr. Sherrill! You’ve 
been hanging fire long enough — and the idea of his for¬ 
getting that bow! ” 

The Graysons thought they had never seen Maude Seaton 
quite so pretty as she was that morning, when she stood 
chatting and laughing with all in general, and fascinating 
each in particular. The result was, the Graysons joined the 
riding-party in a body, and Sam Grayson vowed he would 
cut Jack Sherrill out if he had to fight for it. 

It was a glorious first of September when the riding-party, 
ten in number, cantered up to the inn at Barton’s River, and 
it was a merry group in fresh toilets that gathered after 
dinner and a rest of an hour or two in their rooms on the 
long, narrow, vine-covered veranda of the inn. It had been 
a warm day, and the afternoon shadows were gratefully cool¬ 
ing. 

“Will you look at that load coming down the street?” 
said Mrs. Fenlick. “ I never saw anything so funny! ” 

The whole party burst out laughing, as the vehicle, an 
old apple-green cart, apparently filled with bobbing calico 
sunbonnets and straw hats, shackled and rattled up to the 
side door of the inn. 


88 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I shall call them the Antediluvians,” laughed Maude 
Seaton. “ Do you know where they come from? ” she said, 
speaking in at the open office-window to the boy. 

“ I guess they come to sell berries from a place the folks 
round here call ‘ The Lost Nation,’ ” he replied, grinning. 

'“‘The Lost Nation!’ Do you hear that?” said Sam 
Grayson. “ Let’s have a nearer view of the natives.” They 
all went to the end of the veranda nearest the cart. Sam 
Grayson and Jack went out to investigate. 

Two boys in faded blue overalls and almost brimless straw 
hats jumped down before the wagon stopped, and began 
lifting out six-quart pails of shining blackberries from be¬ 
neath an old buffalo robe. Jack, with his hands in his 
pockets, sauntered up to the tail of the cart. 

“ Buy them all, do — do! ” cried Miss Seaton, clapping 
her hands. “ We need them to-morrow for our picnic; and 
pay a good price,” she added, “ for the sake of the looks. I 
wouldn’t have missed it for anything? ” 

“ How do you sell them? ” said Jack to the tall boy who 
stood with his back to him, busied with the berries. 

The boy turned at the sound of the pleasant voice, and 
lifted his brimless hat by the crown with an air a Harvard 
freshman might have envied. Jack, seeing it, was sorry he 
was bareheaded, for he hated to be outdone in such courtesy. 

“ Ten cents a quart, sir.” 

“ What a handsome fellow! ” whispered Mrs. Fenlick. 
“You rarely see such a face; and where did he get such 
manners ? ” 

“ How many quarts have — halloo, Little Sunbonnet! 
Look out! ” said Jack, laughing, as he caught the owner of 
the yellow sunbonnet, who, perched on the side of the 
wagon, suddenly lost her balance because of Bess’s uneasy 
movements in fly-time. 


A Daughter of the Rich 89 

“ Well, you are an armful,” he laughed as he set her 
down and tried in vain to peer up under the drooping bonnet 
and discover a face. 

“ Whoa — ah, Bess! ” shouted the driver, as Bess reared 
and snorted and shuddered and finally rid herself of the 
tormenting horse-fly. “ All right, Cherry Bounce?” he 
said, turning at last when the horse was quieted. 

But Cherry was dumb with embarrassment, and Jack an¬ 
swered for her. 

“ Little Sunbonnet’s all safe, but what — ” He got no 
further with that sentence. To the amazement of the group 
on the veranda and Jack’s overwhelming astonishment, a 
wild, gleeful “ Oh-ee! ” issued from the depths of another 
sunbonnet in the cart, and the owner thereof precipitated her¬ 
self recklessly over the side, and cast herself upon Jack’s 
neck, hugging and “ oh-eeing ” with all her might. 

“Why, Hazel! Hazel!” Except for that, Jack was 
dumb like Cherry, but not with embarrassment. Was this 
Hazel? Her sunbonnet had fallen off, and the dark blue 
gingham dress set off the wonderful richness of coloring 
that helped to make Hazel what she had become, “ a perfect 
beauty.” 

“ Oh, Jack, you old darling, why didn’t you let us know 
you were coming? Chi, Chi! ” Hazel was fairly wild with 
joy at seeing a dearly loved home-face. “ This is my Cousin 
Jack we’ve talked about. Jack, this is my friend, Chi.” 

Chi put out his horny brown hand, and Jack grasped it. 

“ Guess she’s givin’ you away pretty smart, ain’t she ? ” 
said Chi, with a twist of his mouth and a motion of his 
thumb backwards to the veranda. 

“ Well, rather,” said Jack, laughing, for he felt that 
Chi’s keen eyes had taken in the whole situation at a glance. 
“ I meant to surprise her, but she has succeeded in sur- 


90 A Daughter of the Rich 

prising me.” He stood with his arm about Hazel. “ And 
these are your friends, Hazel?” he inquired; he felt he 
must make the best of it now. 

“ Oh, Jack, I’m ashamed of myself; I’m so glad to see 
you I’ve forgotten my manners. Rose,” she spoke up to 
the other sunbonnet that had kept its position straight 
towards the horse and never moved during this surprise 
party. Then Rose turned. “ Rose, this is Cousin Jack.” 

The sunbonnet bowed stiffly, and Jack heard a low laugh 
behind him. It was Maude Seaton’s. Rose heard it, too; 
so did Chi and March. It affected each in the same way. As 
Chi said afterwards, he “ b’iled ” when he heard it. Then 
Rose spoke: — 

“ I’m very glad to see you, Mr. Sherrill, we’ve heard so 
much of you.” Her voice rang sweet and clear; every word 
was heard on the veranda. “ And these berries aren’t to be 
preserved; but evidently you are going to buy them just the 
same, — as well as your friends,” she added, looking towards 
the veranda. 

Jack bit his lip. I should like to introduce all my 
friends to you,” he said, without much enthusiasm, how¬ 
ever. “ I know this is March; ” he turned pleasantly to him, 
but dared not offer his hand, for the look on the boy’s face 
warned him that March had resented the laugh. “ Will you 
come? ” He held up his hand to Rose to help her down. 

" Thank you.” Rose sprang down, ignoring the proffered 
help. 

She knew just how she looked, and her face burned at the 
thought. Her old green and white calico dress was shrunken 
and warped with many washings; her shoes were heavy and 
patched; fortunately her sunbonnnet with its green calico 
cape was of a depth to hide her burning face. But that 
laugh had been like a challenge to her pride. 


A Daughter of the Rich 91 

“ Drive up to the front veranda, Chi,” she commanded 
rather brusquely; and Chi, muttering to himself, “ She’s 
game, though; I wouldn’t thought it of Rose-pose; but I 
glory in her spunk! ” drew up to the front door in a truly 
rattling style. 

Then Rose and Hazel were introduced to them all; but in 
vain did Maude Seaton try to get a look into her face. It 
was only a ceremony, and Rose felt it as such; nevertheless 
she said very pleasantly, “ Hazel, wouldn’t you like to invite 
your friends up to tea on the porch to-morrow? that is, if 
you are to be here?” she added, addressing Mrs. Fenlick. 

“ Oh, Rose, that would be lovely. Then they can see the 
chickens! ” said Hazel. There was a general laugh. 

“ I fear it will be too much trouble, Miss Blossom,” said 
Mrs. Fenlick, courteously, for she felt like apologizing for 
that laugh of Maude Seaton’s; “ there are so many of us.” 

“ Oh, no, my mother will be glad to meet you,” Rose re¬ 
plied with serene voice; “ won’t she, Chi? ” 

“ Sure,” said Chi, addressing the general assembly; “ the 
more the merrier; ’n’ if you come along about four, you’ll 
get a view you don’t get round here, ’n’ a wholesale piazzy 
to eat it on. How many do you count up? ” Jack winced 
at the burst of merriment that followed the question. 

“ We’ll line up, and you can count,” said Sam Grayson, 
the fun getting the better of him. “ Here, Miss Seaton, 
stand at the head.” 

“ Miss Blossom, there are ten of us; are you going to 
retract your invitation?” said Mrs. Fenlick, shaking her 
head at Sam. 

“ Not if you wish to come,” said Rose, pleasantly. “ We 
will have tea at five. Come, Hazel, we must be going; there 
are the berries to sell — or shall we leave you here with your 
cousin till we come back ? ” 


92 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ No, I won’t leave you even for Jack,” said Hazel, 
earnestly; “ besides, I’ve never had the fun of selling ber¬ 
ries.” 

“ I’m thinkin’ you’ve lost your fun, anyway,” said Chi, 
“ for Budd says the tavern-keeper has taken all; guess he’s 
goin’ into the jam business, too.” 

“ I’ll pick some more, then, to-morrow, and you’ll have 
to buy some of them, Jack,” said Hazel, “ for I’m bound to 
sell some berries this summer.” 

“ We’ll take all you can pick, Hazel,” said Maude Seaton, 
sweetly. Then, as the cart rattled away with the three sun- 
bonnets held rigid and erect, she turned to Mrs. Fenlick and 
the other girls: “ What an idea that was of Doctor Heath’s 
to put Hazel away up here in such a family — a girl in her 
position! ” 

“ She seems to have thriven wonderfully on it,” remarked 
Mrs. Fenlick; “she will be the prettiest of her set when 
they come out. I am delighted to have a chance to see 
Doctor Heath’s mountain sanatorium.” 

“ Oh, I’m sure it will be amusing,” replied Maude, dryly. 
Then she shook out her light draperies, pulled down her 
belt, and went down the road a bit to meet Jack and Sam 
Grayson, who had accompanied the cart for a few rods along 
the village street. 

When they had turned back to the inn, the storm in the 
apple-green cart burst forth. 

“ Did you hear that girl laugh? ” demanded March, with 
suppressed wrath in his voice. 

“ Just as plain as I hear that crow caw,” said Chi. 

“ I can’t bear her,” said Hazel; “ telling me she would 
buy my berries when I only meant Jack.” 

“ Kinder sweet on him, ain’t she? ” asked Chi, carelessly. 

“ I should think so! ” was Hazel’s indignant answer. “ I 


A Daughter of the Rich 93 

heard Aunt Carrie tell papa she was always sending him in¬ 
vitations to everything. But isn’t Cousin Jack splendid, 
Rose?” 

Rose’s sunbonnet was still very rigid, and Chi knew that 
sign; so he spoke up promptly, knowing that she did not 
care to answer just then: — 

“ He’s about as handsome as they make ’em, Lady-bird; 
if he wears well, I shan’t have nothin’ against him.” 

Hazel felt rather depressed without knowing exactly why. 
March returned to the charge. 

“ Did you hear that laugh, Rose? ” 

“ Yes, I did,” said Rose, shortly. March looked at her 
in surprise, but Chi managed to give him a nudge, which 
March understood, and the subject was dropped on the 
homeward way. 

That the berry-sellers were under a cloud was evident 
to Mrs. Blossom as soon as they drove up to the woodshed. 

“ Did you have good luck, children ? ” she called to them 
cheerily. 

“ We’ve sold all our berries,” said Budd. 

“ But March and Rose are cross, Martie,” added Cherry. 

“ Tired ’n’ hungry, too, Mis’ Blossom,” Chi hastened to 
say, trying to shield Hazel and the other two. “ I wish 
you’d just step out to the barn with a spoonful of your good 
lard. Bess has rubbed her shin a little mite, ’n’ I want to 
grease it good to save the hair.” Mrs. Plossom, reading 
his face, took the hint. 

He made his confession in the barn. 

“ I don’t know what we’ve done, Mis’ Blossom; but Rose 
has invited ’em all up here to-morrow to supper, —they’re 
regular high-flyers, girls ’n’ fellers, ’n’ the Colonel and his 
wife. There’s ten of ’em; ’n’ it’s a-goin’ to make you an 
awful sight of work, but, by George Washin’ton! that pesky 


94 A Daughter of the Rich 

girl — Miss Seaver, or somethin’ like it —riled me so, that 
I ain’t got over it yet, ’n’ I’d backed up Rose if she’d offered 
to take the whole of ’em to board for a week. I just b’iled 
when I heard her laugh, ’n’ she can’t hold a candle to our 
Rose; ’n’ she’s that sassy — although you can’t put your 
finger on anything special — that you can’t sass back; the 
worst kind every time; ’n’ she’s set her cap for the straightest 
sort of chap—'that’s Hazel’s cousin — there is goin’, ’n’, 
by George Washin’ton! I’m afraid he’s fool enough to catch 
at that bait. 

“ There! ” said Chi, stopping to draw breath, “ I’ve had 
my blow-out ’n’ I feel better. Now, what are we goin’ to do 
about it ? ” 

“ We’ll manage it, Chi,” said Mrs. Blossom, smiling in 
spite of herself at Chi’s wrath. “ After all, the children 
have been carefully guarded in our home up here, and, 
sometimes, I think too much, — it won’t hurt them to take a 
prick now and then. Besides, Chi,” she added, laughing out¬ 
right as she turned to go into the house, “ the children did 
look perfectly ridiculous in those old berry-picking rigs. I 
laughed myself when I saw you drive off with them.” 

But she left Chi grumbling. 

That night, after the children were in bed, and Mrs. 
Blossom was sure they were all asleep except Rose, she 
went upstairs a second time and spoke softly at the door: 

“ Rose.” 

“Yes, Martie; oh, you’re coming! I’m so glad.” And 
as Mrs. Blossom knelt by the bed, whispering, “ Now tell me 
all about it,” Rose threw one arm over her mother’s shoulder 
and whispered her confession. 

“ They weren’t rude to you, dear, were they ? ” 

“ No, Martie,” whispered Rose, “ it wasn’t that, but I 
just hated them for a minute, — Hazel’s cousin and all.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 95 

“ That’s isn’t like you, Rose dear, to hate anyone without 
reason.” 

“ Oh, Martie, I’m ashamed to tell you — ” the arm came 
close about her mother’s neck, “ I’m too old to have such 
feelings, but I couldn’t bear them because I looked as I did. 
I was ashamed of my looks and the children’s; and I was 
ashamed even of Chi — dear, old Chi! — ” there was a 
smothered sob and an effort to go on. “ And they were all 
dressed so beautifully, and Hazel’s cousin had on a lovely 
white flannel suit, and I was just a little rude to him; but 
it was nothing but my dreadful pride! I didn’t know I had 
it till to-day, — oh, dear! ” The head went under the 
counterpane to smother the sound of the sobs. 

“ But, my dear little girl — ” (When Rose cried, which 
was seldom, Mrs. Blossom called her daughter who was as 
tall as herself, “ little girl, ” and nothing comforted Rose 
more than that.) So now, hearing the loving words, the 
head emerged from the bedclothes, and a tear-wet face was 
meekly held over the side of the bed for a kiss. 

“ But, my dear little girl,” Mrs. Blossom went on after 
the interruption, “ surely you were courteous and thoughtful 
of Hazel’s happiness, at least, to ask them all up here to tea. 
You haven’t that to regret.” 

There was a fresh burst, smothered quickly under the 
sheet. “ Oh, Martie, that’s the worst part of it! I didn’t 
ask them for Hazel’s sake, but just for myself, because I 
knew — I knew — ” Rose smothered the rising sob; “ that 
if they came, I could have on my one pretty dress, and they’d 
see that I — that I — ” Rose was unable to finish. 

“ Could look as well as they did?” said Mrs. Blossom, 
completing the sentence. 

“ Yes,” sighed Rose, “ and I feel like a perfect hyprocrite 
towards every one of them; — and, oh, Martie! the truth is, 


g 6 A Daughter of the Rich 

I was ashamed of being poor and selling berries — ” again 
the head went under the coverlet, and Mrs. Blossom caught 
only broken phrases: —* 

“ I am so proud of — of you and Popsey — poor Chi 
made it worse — they laughed — March was mad, too, — 
and Miss Seaton’s so pretty — clothes — Hazel’s cousin 
tried to be polite — Hazel — just her dear own self — but 
she’s rich — and Cherry f-fell into his arms — and I know 
— I know he wanted to be out of the whole thing — oh 
dear! ” 

Mrs. Blossom patted the bunch under the clothes whence 
came the smothered, broken sentences, and smiled while a 
tear rolled down her cheek. After all, this was real grief, 
and she wished she might have shielded her Rose from just 
this kind of contact with the world. But she was wise 
enough not to say so. 

“ Well, Rose dear, let’s look on the other side now the 
invitation has been given. I, for my part, shall be glad to 
see what they are like. I know you looked queer in those 
old clothes, but, after all, wouldn’t it have been just as 
queer to have been all dressed up selling berries ? ” 

“ Yes, I think it would, Martie,” said Rose, emerging 
from her retreat. “ I’m not such a goose as not to realize 
we must have looked perfectly comical.” 

“ Well, now comfort yourself with the thought, that to¬ 
morrow you need only look just as nice as you can in honor 
of our guests. I’m sure I shall,” said Mrs. Blossom, laugh¬ 
ing softly. “ I’m not going to be outdone by all those 
‘ high-flyers,’ as dear, old Chi calls them. We’ll put on our 
prettiest — and there isn’t much choice, you know, for we 
have just one apiece — and we’ll set the table with grand¬ 
mother’s old china out on the porch, and we’ll give them of 
our best, and queens, Rose-pose, can do no more. That’s 


A Daughter of the Rich 97 

our duty; we’ll let the others look out for theirs. Now, what 
will be nice for tea? ” 

“Not preserves, Martie, for Chi said—” Her mother 
interrupted her, — 

“ Never mind what Chi said now, dear, but plan for the 
tea. We shall have to work as hard as we can jump to¬ 
morrow forenoon to get ready. I’m sorry father can’t be 
at home.” 

“Couldn’t we have blackberries and those late garden 
raspberries Chi has been saving?” said Rose. 

“ Yes, those will look pretty and taste good; and then hot 
rolls, and fresh sponge and plum cake, and tea, and cold 
chicken moulded in its jelly, the way we tried it last 
month —” 

“ Oh, that will be lovely, Martie,” whispered Rose, eager- 

ly- 

“ And if Chi and March have the time,” went on Mrs. 
Blossom, entering heart and soul into the hospitable plan, 
“ I’ll ask them to go trout-fishing and bring us home two 
strings of the speckled beauties, and if those served hot don’t 
make them respect old clothes — then nothing on earth will,” 
concluded Mrs. Blossom, with mock solemnity. 

“ Oh, Martie Blossom, you’re an angel! ” cried Rose, 
softly, rising in bed and throwing both arms about her 
mother’s neck — “ there! ” — a squeeze, “ and there — ” 
another squeeze and a kiss, “ and now you won’t have to 
complain of me to-morrow.” 

“ That’s mother’s own daughter Rose,” said Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, smoothing the sheet under the round chin. “ Now, 
good-night — sleep well, for I depend upon you to make 
those rolls to-morrow forenoon.” 


XI 


JACK 

Jack Sherrill had always had a particularly warm in¬ 
terest in his Cousin Hazel. He, too, was motherless. The 
fifteen-year-old lad had gone into one of the great prepara¬ 
tory schools with the terrible mother-want in his heart and 
life. Like Hazel, he, too, was an only child, and conse¬ 
quently without the guidance and help of an elder brother or 
sister. His father was all that a man, absorbed in large 
business interests, could be to the son whom he saw in vaca¬ 
tion time only, 

“ You are born a gentleman, Jack/’ he had said to him 
when he was about to enter Harvard; “ remember to con¬ 
duct yourself as such. You’ll not find it an easy matter at 
times — I didn’t — but you will find it pays; and — and re¬ 
member your mother.” Then Mr. Sherrill had wrung his 
boy’s hand, and hurried away. 

It was the only time in the three years since she had been 
lost to him, that his father had borne to mention the lad’s 
mother to him. To Jack it was like a last will and testament, 
and he wrote it not only in his memory, but on his heart. 

He had tried, yes, honestly, amid the manifold tempta¬ 
tions of his life and his “ set,” to live up to a certain ideal 
of his own, but it had been slow work; and the last three 
months of his sophomore year had been far from satisfac¬ 
tory to himself. 

He was thinking this over as he rode slowly up the steep 


A Daughter of the Rich 99 

road to Mount Hunger. He had come up that morning to 
call on Mrs. Blossom, for he knew that the social law of 
hospitality demanded that he should pay his respects to Rose 
Blossom’s mother and Hazel’s guardian before his friends 
should break bread in the house. 

That tall girl in the sunbonnet was a disappointment — 
but then, he had been a fool to expect anything else just be¬ 
cause she happened to sing one of Barry Cornwall’s love- 
songs. He rode out of the leafy woods’-road, and came un¬ 
expectedly upon the farmhouse. Chi saw him from the 
barn, and came out to meet him. 

“ Is Mrs. Blossom at home? ” asked Jack, lifting his cap. 
Chi patted Little Shaver’s neck, shining like polished ma¬ 
hogany. “ Yes, she’s home, ’n’ she’ll be glad to see you. 
You’ll find her right in the kitchen, ’n’ I’ll tend to this little 
chap — what’s his name? ” 

“ Little Shaver, he’s my polo pony.” 

“ George Washin’ton! He knows a thing or two. He 
most winked at me,” laughed Chi. 

“ Oh, he knows a stable when he sees it,” said Jack, 
smiling; “ but where’s the kitchen? ” 

“ Right off the porch. —There’s Rose singing now; guess 
that’ll be as good a guide-post as you could have. Come 
along, Little Shaver, — a good name for you.” 

Jack went up on the porch, but stopped short at the open 
door. Rose was at the kitchen table, patting out the dough 
for the rolls. Her sleeves were turned up above the elbows, 
and the round, yet delicate, white arms and the pretty hands 
were working energetically with the rolling-pin. She was 
singing from pure lightheartedness, and she emphasized the 
rhythm by substantial thumps with the culinary utensil. 

“*I told thee when love was hopeless; (thump) 

But now he is wild and sings— (thump) 


IOO 


A Daughter of the Rich 

That the stars above (thump! thump!!) 

Shine ever on Love — (thump — )’ ” 

Jack knocked rather loudly, and Rose turned with a little 
“ Oh! ” and an attitude that made Jack long for a button¬ 
hole kodak. 

“ Come in, Mr. Sherrill,” she said, cordially, but thinking 
to herself, “ Caught again! well, I don’t care.” 

“ I hope I haven’t come too early this morning to be re¬ 
ceived,” said Jack, extending his hand. 

“ I can’t shake, Mr. Sherrill,” laughed Rose, “ and if I 
stop to wash them, you won’t have any rolls for tea.” 

“ Do go on then,” said Jack, eagerly, “ only don’t let me 
be a bother. I was afraid it might be too early and incon¬ 
venience you, but — ” 

“Not a bit,” said Rose as she turned to the kneading- 
board again. “If you don’t mind, I’m sure I don’t; only 
these rolls must be attended to.” 

“ You’re very good to let me stay and watch the process,” 
said Jack, humbly, deferentially taking his stand by the 
table. “ I hope I shall not interfere so much with Mrs. 
Blossom; I forgot that — that — ” Jack grew red and con¬ 
fused. 

“ That we did our own work? ” Rose supplied the rest of 
his thought with such winning frankness, that Jack suc¬ 
cumbed then and there to the delight of a novel experience. 

“ I’ll be out in a few minutes, Mr. Sherrill,” called a 
cheery voice from the pantry behind him. Jack started, — 
then laughed. 

“ Am I interrupting you, too Mrs. Blossom ? ” he said, 
addressing a crack in the pantry door. 

“ I don’t mean to let you, or you will have no sponge cakes 
for tea; I’m beating eggs and can’t leave them or they’ll go 
down.” 



“/ can't shake , Mr. Sherrilllaughed Rose. 

Page ioo. 





























































■v 






























































A Daughter of the Rich ioi 

“ Can’t I help, Mrs. Blossom? I’ve no end of unused 
muscle,” said Jack, entering into the fun of the situation. 

“ No, thank you, I shall be but a few minutes. Rose dear,, 
just feel the oven, will you? ” 

Jack began to think himself a nonentity in all this 
domesticity. “ ‘ Feel the oven/ ” he said to himself. “ Do 
girls do that often, I wonder.” He watched Rose’s every 
movement. 

“ Now confess, Mr. Sherrill, have you ever seen anyone 
make biscuit before?” said Rose, cutting off a piece of 
dough, flouring it, patting it, cuddling it in both hands, fold¬ 
ing it over with a little slap to hold a bit of butter, and tuck¬ 
ing it into the large, shallow pan. 

“ No — ” Jack drew a long breath, “ I never have. You 
see I have always thought it a kind of drudgery, but this — ” 
Jack sought for a word that should express his feelings in 
regard to the process as performed by Rose — “this is, why 

— it’s poetry! ” he exclaimed with a flashing smile that be¬ 
came his expressive face wonderfully, and caused Rose to 
fail absolutely in making a shapely poem of the next roll. 

She laughed merrily. “ There now, they’ll soon be done 

— in good shape too, if you don’t compliment them too 
much.” 

“ I’ll eat a dozen of them, I warn you now.” Jack was 
waxing dangerous, for he was already possessed with an in¬ 
sane desire to become a piece of dough for the sake of hav¬ 
ing those pretty hands pat him into shape. 

“ Do you hear that, Martie ? ” cried Rose, flushing with 
pleasure. 

“ Yes. That’s the best compliment you can pay them, 
Mr. Sherrill. I hope my cakes will fare as well,” she said, 
coming from the pantry with extended hand. 

It was strange! But when Jack Sherrill returned the 


102 


A Daughter of the Rich 

cordial pressure of that same hand, small, shapely, but worn 
and hardened with toil, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. 
This, truly, was a home, with what makes the home — a 
mother in it. 

Mrs. Blossom saw the tears, the struggle for composure, 
and knowing from Hazel he was motherless, read his 
thought; — then all her sweet motherhood came to the sur¬ 
face. 

“My dear boy,” she said with quivering lip, “ it is very 
thoughtful of you to come up and pioneer the way over the 
Mountain for all your city friends.” 

Jack found his voice. “ Mrs. Fenlick wanted to come, 
too, Mrs. Blossom, but I managed to put it so she thought it 
would be better to wait until afternoon. They are all look¬ 
ing forward to it.” 

“ I’m sorry Hazel isn’t here; she is out picking berries 
with the children. If Rose hadn’t so much to do, I’d send 
her to hunt them up.” 

Jack protested. He had come to call on Mrs. Blossom 
and had detained them altogether too long. 

“ I don’t want to go,” he said laughingly, “but I know I 
ought. It seems almost an imposition for so many of us to 
come up here and put you to all this trouble. Why did you 
ask us, Miss Blossom ? ” At which question, Rose did not 
belie her name, for a sudden wave of color surged into her 
face, and she looked helplessly and appealingly at her 
mother. 

“ I’ve put my foot into it now,” was Jack’s thought, as' 
Mrs. Blossom responded quickly, “ For more reasons than 
one, Mr. Sherrill.” 

They were out on the porch; Chi was bringing up Little 
Shaver. 

“ It will be a regular stampede this afternoon,” said Jack, 


A Daughter of the Rich 103 

gayly, as he vaulted into the saddle. “ Have you room 
enough for so many horses? ” He turned to Chi. 

“ Plenty ’n’ to spare, ’n’ I’m going to give ’em a piazzy 
tea of their own. Little Shaver knows all about it: I’ve 
told him. I never saw but one horse before that could 
most talk, ’n’ that’s Fleet.” 

Little Shaver whinnied, and with a downward thrust and 
twist of his head tried to get it under Chi’s arm. 

“Didn’t I tell you?” said Chi, delightedly. 

“ Can I get on to the main road by going over the Moun¬ 
tain? ” Jack asked him. 

“ Yes, you can get over, if you ain’t particular how you 
get,” said Chi. 

“No road?” 

“ Kind of a trail; — over the pasture ’n’ through the 
woods, an acre or two of brush, ’n’ then some pretty steep 
slidin’ down the other side, ’n’ a dozen rods of swimmin’, ’n* 

a tough old clamber up the bank-’n’ there you are on 

the river road as neat as a pin.” 

Jack laughed. “Just what Little Shaver glories in; I’ll 
try it, and much obliged to you, Mr. — ” he hesitated. 

“ Call me, Chi.” 

“ Chi,” said Jack, in such a tone of good comradeship 
that it brought the horny hand up to his in a second’s time. 

Jack grasped it; “Good-bye till this afternoon.” He 
spoke to Little Shaver, who ducked his head and fairly 
scuttled across the mowing, scrambled up the pasture, took 
the three-rail fence at the top in a sort of double bow-knot 
of a jump, and then disappeared in the woods, leaving the 
three gazing after him in admiration. 

“ That feller’s got the right ring,” said Chi, emphatically; 
“ but if he hadn’t come up here this mornin’, first thing, 
after that invite of Rose-pose’s, I’d have set him down along- 



104 ^ Daughter of the Rich 

side of that Miss Seaver — ’n’ a pretty low seat that would 
be! ” 

“ I’ll put up some lunch, Chi, for you and March, and if 
you can find him, you would do well to start now for the 
trout.” 

Mrs. Blossom turned to Rose. “ Come, dear, we’ve a 
hundred and one things to do to be ready in time. You may 
set the table on the porch, and we’ll all picnic for dinner to¬ 
day; I’ve no time to get a regular one, and father isn’t at 
home.” 

It was a perfect afternoon on that second of September. 
At a quarter of five Mrs. Blossom and Rose and Hazel were 
on the porch, looking down upon the lower road for the 
first glimpse of the party. 

The table was set on the huge rough veranda that Mr. 
Blossom and Chi had built just off the kitchen long-room. 
Clematis and maiden-hair ferns, which abounded on the 
Mountain, were the decorations, and set off to good ad¬ 
vantage Mrs. Blossom’s mother’s old-fashioned tea-set of 
delicate green and white china. 

On one end was a large china bowl heaped with black¬ 
berries, on the other stood a common glass one filled with 
luscious, red raspberries. The sponge cakes gleamed, ap- 
petizingly golden, from plates covered with grape-vine 
leaves for doilies. 

The chicken quivered in its own jelly on a platter wreathed 
with clematis. The delicious odor of fried trout floated out 
from the long-room, and the rolls were steaming hot in 
snow-white napkins. 

“ Oh, dear! ” moaned Rose. “ Everything will get cold, 
it’s so late.” 

Just then there was a shout from the advance-guard of 
the twins, and the cavalcade came into view; Jack on Little 


A Daughter of the Rich 105 

Shaver, who, after his thirty-mile morning ride, was as fresh 
as a pastured colt — riding beside Maude Seaton on Old Jo. 

There was a general dismounting, assisted by Chi; a 
gathering and looping up of riding habits; a bit of general 
brushing down among the men; then, with one accord they 
turned to the broad step of the porch. 

Mrs. Fenlick, telling of it afterwards, said that, for a mo¬ 
ment, she did nothing but look with all her eyes; for there 
on the porch step stood a woman still in the prime of life and 
beautiful. She was dressed in an India mull of the fashion 
of a quarter of a century ago, with a lace kerchief folded in 
a V about the open neck, and fastened with an old-fashioned 
brooch. 

“ At her side,” said Mrs. Fenlick, “ stood one of the love¬ 
liest girls off of canvas I have ever seen. She had on a gown 
of old-fashioned lawn — pale blue with a rose-bud border. 
She was tall and straight, and the skirt was a little skimpy, 
and so plain that had she designed it to set off the grace of 
her figure she couldn’t have succeeded better. And the face 
and head! ” Mrs. Fenlick used to wax eloquent at this 
point — “ were simply ideal. Hazel, of course, looked as 
handsome as a picture in her full, dark blue frock of wash 
silk trimmed with Irish lace, and with that rich color in her 
cheeks — but that girl’s face was simply divine! Just 
imagine a complexion of pure white, and dark blue eyes — 
real violet color — black almost in her pretty excitement of 
welcoming us, and the loveliest golden brown hair just 
plaited and puffed a little at the temples, and a braid, that 
big — ” Mrs. Fenlick generally put her two delicate wrists 
together at this point, — “ that fell below her waist fully 
half a yard! I never saw such hair! ” 

Mrs. Fenlick used to pause for breath at this point, and 
then add, “ Well, the whole thing was too lovely to be 


io 6 A Daughter of the Rich 

described. Of course, we ate — lots; for that ride and the 
air were enough to make a saint hungry in Lent, but I was 
only dimly conscious of ever so many good things I was 
eating, for that face fascinated me. And manners! Just 
as if those two women had had nothing to do all their lives 
but entertain royalty! 

“ I had sense enough, however, to notice that Jack Sherrill 
said very little and ate a great deal. I counted twelve rolls 
— of course they were small — for one thing; and I don’t 
blame him, — I wanted more. Well, the whole thing was 
perfect — the valley and the great mountains were just in 
front of the porch, and everything harmonized. Even that 
lovely girl had a bunch of purple-blue pansies at her belt 
and a few in the bit of cotton lace at her throat; and the 
sunset and the mountains matched them — as if she had had 
the whole thing made to order.” 

Mrs. Fenlick always ended with, “ I’ve got one bone to 
pick with that dear Doctor Heath — a mountain sanatorium! 
I’d be willing, almost, to get nervous prostration to be sent 
up there. 

“ But oh! you should have seen Maude Seaton! ” And 
thereupon, Mrs. Fenlick would go off into a fit of laughter 
at the remembrance. “ She was looking about for the 
* rigid sunbonnet,’ as she called it, of the day before, and 
didn’t hear when Rose Blossom spoke to her; and when she 
did realize that the two were one and the same, her look 
was the kind ‘ Life ’ likes to get hold of, you know. 

“ As for Jack Sherrill,” Mrs. Fenlick concluded in her 
most serious manner, “ I have my own thoughts about some 
things.” More than that she would not say, for fear it 
might get back to Maude Seaton’s ears. 

Jack, too, had his own thoughts about some things—^ 
and kept them to himself. 


XII 


RESULTS 

It was the middle of October. A wild, cold wind was 
sweeping over the Mountain, and driving black clouds in 
quick succession across the tops of the woodlands. It howled 
around the farmhouse and, as now and again a more furious 
blast hurled itself against doors and windows, the children 
drew nearer together on the rug before the huge fireplace 
with a delightful sense of safety and cosiness. 

A kettle of molasses was simmering on the stove, and 
Chi was wielding the corn-popper with truly professional 
skill before the open fire. 

It was such fun to see the hurry, and scurry, and hustle, 
and rattle, and pop, and sudden white transformation of the 
heated kernels! A huge, wooden bowl received the contents 
of the popper, and March salted them. Oh, how good it 
smelt! And Rose was going to make molasses corn-balls 
to put aside for the next evening. 

“ It’s just like having a party every night, there are so 
many of us,” said Hazel, clapping her hands in delight. 

“ I should think you’d miss some of your real parties, 
Hazel,” said Rose, thoughtfully. 

“ Miss them! Not a bit; why, they aren’t half so nice as 
this, and at home it’s so lonesome when papa isn’t there. 
Isn’t it lovely to think he’s coming up Christmas? Even 
up here, you know, it wouldn’t be quite Christmas for me 
without him. That makes me think, I must write him very 
soon about some things.” Hazel looked mysterious. 


108 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ We hung up our stockings last year, but we didn’t get 
what we wanted,” said Cherry rather mournfully. 

“ Why not?” asked Hazel. 

“ Coz Popsey was so sick he couldn’t go out to the Wish- 
ing-Tree, and so he didn’t know.” 

“ What is the Wishing-Tree? ” said Hazel, consumed with 
curiosity. 

Cherry’s mouth was full of corn, so Budd carried on the 
conversation between mouthfuls. 

“ I’ll show you to-morrow. It’s a big butternut up in 
the corner of the pasture, an’ there’s a little hollow in the 
trunk where the squirrels used to hide beech-nuts, but March 
has made a door to it with a hinge and put a little padlock 
on it — that’s the key hanging up on the clock.” 

Hazel saw a tiny key suspended by a string from one of 
the pointed knobs that ornamented the tall clock. 

“ ’N’ nobody touches it till All-hallow-e’en,” said Cherry, 
when the sound of her munching had somewhat diminished, 
although her articulation was by no means clear. “ ’N’ then 
Chi goes up with us in the dark, ’n’ we put in our wishes, 
’n’ — ” 

“ Let me tell Hazel,” said Budd. “ You’ve begun at the 
wrong end. You see, we write what we want for Christ¬ 
mas down on paper, an’ seal it with beeswax, an’ then don’t 
tell anybody what we’ve written; an’ then Chi goes up there 
with us after dark, an’ we’re all dressed up like Injuns — ” 

“ Indians, Budd,” corrected March. 

“ Well, Old Pertic’lar, Indians, then,” said Budd, a little 
crossly, “ an’ then —* ” 

“ Oh, you’ve forgot the dish-pan and the little tub,” 
Cherry’s voice came muffled through the corn. “ We take 
the dish-pan, Hazel, ’n’ the little wash-tub, me ’n’ Budd be- 


A Daughter of the Rich 109 

tween us, ’n’ beat on them with the iron spoon ’n’ the dish- 
mop handle, V play 4 tom-toms ’ — ” 

44 Yes, an’ March gives an awful war-whoop — ” Budd 
in his earnestness, had risen and gone over to Chi’s side, and 
now sat down by the big bowl, but, unfortunately, on the 
popper which Chi had just emptied. There was a smell of 
scorched wool, and, simultaneously, a Wild, “ Oh, gee- 
whiz!! ” from Budd, who leaped as if shot, and stood rue¬ 
fully rubbing the seat of his well-patched knickerbockers, 
while the rest rolled over on the rug in their merriment. 

“ Oh, do go on, Budd! ” cried Hazel, wiping the tears 
of mirth from her eyes. Cherry had laughed so hard that 
she was hiccoughing with outrageous rapidity; and March 
— forgetting May — chose that opportune moment to give 
forth a specimen of his best war-whoop, for the purpose, as 
he explained afterwards, of frightening her out of them. 

By the time order had been restored, Cherry was able to 
take up the thread of the story. 

44 ’N’ we join hands — Chi ’n’ all of us — ’n’ sing as loud 
as we can sing: 

“ * Intery, mintery, cutery corn, 

Apple seed, apple thorn; 

Wire, briar, limber lock, 

Five geese in a flock — 

Sit and sing by the spring; 

You are OUT/ 

Then we all give a great shout and grunt like In-di-ans —,” 
said Cherry, emphatically, looking at March; and March 
nodded approval. 

44 How’s that? ” asked Hazel, who was listening with all 
her ears. 

44 A hannah — a hannah — a hannah,” grunted the chil¬ 
dren as well as they could, hampered by mouths full of 
com. 44 An’ then,” went on Budd, 44 we drop the wishes 


IIO 


A Daughter of the Rich 

into the hollow in the tree-trunk, an’ Chi locks the door an 
keeps it, an’ — ” 

“ ’INF each of us ties two feathers from a rooster’s tail to 
different colored strings, ’n’ fastens them on to a branch of 
the tree, ’n’ that brings us good luck; March calls it * winging 
the wishes.’ That’s the way we get our presents.” 

“ Oh, what fun! ” cried Hazel. “ May I do it this year ? ” 

“ Course,” replied Budd, “ but how will your father know 
anything about it? ” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Hazel, all her Christmas 
castles toppling over suddenly. 

“ We’ll fix it somehow, Lady-bird,” said Chi, who, having 
finished his labors, had seated himself in a chair behind the 
children and provided himself with a private bowl of his 
own. 

“ But now, speakin’ of roosters, I’d like to know how 
you’re cornin’ out about chicken money. I sold the last lot 
but one down in Barton’s to-day. There’s been a lot of 
express to pay, ’n’ I thought I’d better pay dividends to-night, 
’n’ get it off my mind, seein’ it’s most Wishin’-Tree time.” 

Rose took her little account book from her pocket. “ We 
cleared one hundred and ten dollars on our preserves and 
jams after we’d paid Hazel what we had borrowed for the 
jars and sugar, and paid for the express and boxes. I’m 
awfully sorry we couldn’t fill all the orders, but we’ll try 
to next year. I’ll go and get the money. I like to look at 
it, knowing it means so much to us all.” 

She ran upstairs and came back with a little wooden box 
that Chi had made for her years ago. The children crowded 
about her. “ There,” said Rose, proudly, as she took out the 
money and smoothed it, one crisp bill after another, on her 
knees; “they’re all in ones, so it will seem as if we had 


Ill 


A Daughter of the Rich 

more when we divide. Now we’ve agreed to divide this 
equally, so that’ll make just twenty-two apiece.” 

“ Let’s play ‘ Hold-fast-all-I-give-you ’ in earnest,” said 
Cherry, sitting down again on the rug and holding out her 
hands. “ That’ll be twenty-two times round and make it 
seem a lot more.” 

“ Good for you, Cherry,” said March, approvingly, and 
they all followed her example. With a gravity befitting the 
occasion, the “ truly-bruly ” game, as Budd called it, went on 
to the supreme satisfaction of those interested as well as the 
enjoyment of father and mother and Chi; for to the two 
former the money-making had long been, of necessity, an 
open secret. 

Chi, after watching them a little while, left the room. 
When he reappeared a few minutes later, he was greeted 
with a prolonged “ Ah! ” of satisfaction; for in one hand 
he held his old account-book, and in the other a long, dark 
blue woollen stocking which bulged fearfully from the toe 
halfway up the leg, where it was tied with a stout piece of 
leather whip-lash. 

The whole business of disposing of the chickens had 
been intrusted to Chi, and the members of the N. B. B. O. O. 
Society had pledged themselves not to ask him any questions 
in regard to the sale of them until he should tell them of 
his own accord. This pledge they had kept, and now they 
were to have their rewards. 

“ If this is going to be a meeting of the N. B. B. O. O. 
Society, I move we ask those who aren’t members to adjourn 
to the bedroom,” said March, loking significantly at his 
mother and father. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom took the hint, 
and, without waiting for anyone to second the motion,” 
betook themselves, laughing, into the other room. 

“ Guess we’ll sit up to the table ’n’ count it out,” said 


112 


A Daughter of the Rich 

Chi, “ coz we don’t want any of it to fly up chimney. We 
should never find it again in this gale.” 

He emptied the stocking of its contents — bills, pennies, 
and silver pieces of all denominations — upon the table, and 
the children drew up their chairs. 

“ Now we’ll sort,” sa,id Chi. “ You take the bills, Rose, 
’n’ the rest take the other pieces, ’n’ make little piles before 
you of a dollar each. Then we can reckon up easy. I’ll take 
the pennies and the nickels.” 

“ I choose the ten-cent pieces,” said Cherry, “ an’ you 
take the quarters, Budd.” March and Hazel took the rest. 

“ This is a kind of stockholders’ meetin’,” said Chi, as 
the piles were completed. “ We’ll divide the proceeds ac¬ 
cordin’ the number of hens each set; coz I couldn’t keep run 
of so many chicks after they’d struck out for themselves.” 

He opened his book. 

“ Here’s some items you better hear, before you find any 
fault with the management: 

“Mem. July. 15 chicks killed by hen-hawks. 

“Mem. August. 21 chicks died of the pip. 

“ Mem. September. Skunks stole ten. 

“ Mem. October. 2 can’t find. 

“ There’s a dead loss to all the stockholders, share ’n’ 
share alike. Now for the expenses. 

“ Mem. Corn for feed till October — 7 bushels. 

“ Mem. October. Express, $5.50. Crates for expressin’ 
—$1.10. Now for the profits! ” said Chi, with a ring of 
triumph in his voice. “ Count up your piles.” 

How the cheeks flushed and the eyes grew dark with ex¬ 
citement as the counting proceeded: “ One hundred — one 
hundred and thirty-two — one hundred and seventy-seven 
— two hundred! ” 


A Daughter of the Rich 113 

“ Oh-ee! ” cried Hazel, as March fairly thundered “ Two 
hundred! ” “ There’s more, there’s more! ” 

“ Go on, go on! ” she cried again, almost beside herself 
with excitement. 

“ Two hundred and seven — TWO HUNDRED AND 
SEVENTEEN!! ” 

“ Chi! ” exclaimed Rose, almost breathless, “ How did 
you make all that? ” and thereupon, without waiting for his 
answer, she sprang up from her chair, and, to Chi’s amaze¬ 
ment, took his weather-worn face between her two hands, 
and popped a kiss upon his forehead. 

Chi cleared his throat and attempted to make his expla¬ 
nation, but was interrupted by March, who got hold of his 
right hand and wrung it without speaking. Chi saw the 
boy turn a little white about the mouth and his gray eyes 
flash through tears; words were not needed. 

Budd and Cherry did not realize all this meant to the 
elder brother and sister, but they did not wish to be out¬ 
done by the others in expressing their appreciation of Chi. 
So Budd thumped him unmercifully on the back, saying, 
“ You’re a trump, Chi; tell us how you did it,” in a most 
patronizing tone, and Cherry danced around the table, 
singing; “ I love my Love with a big, big C! ” 

Hazel looked on, rejoicing in their joy, but wondering 
why such a little sum, less than her yearly allowance, should 
create all that happiness. 

“ But tell us how you did it, Chi.” said Rose again. 

“ Well, I sold most of them for broilers, they bring a 
pretty good price; ’n’ then I sold the feathers; ’n’ you forget 
all those forty hens have been layin’ the last two months, ’n’ 
I sold the eggs. Then, too, — ” a slow smile wrinkled 
Chi’s eyes — “I wasn’t interfered with, ’n’ that made a 


114 A Daughter of the Rich 

great difference in the business. How much have you got 
altogether ? ” 

“ Three hundred and twenty-seven dollars,” said March. 

“ What you goin’ to do with it ? that’s the next question. 
You can’t let your money lay round in wooden boxes ’n’ 
old stockin’s. It ought to be bringing you in interest.” 

“ I’m going to give my share to Rose, to prepare for col¬ 
lege with,” said Hazel. 

“ Indeed, I sha’n’t take your money, Hazel; you’ve earned 
it fairly for yourself. I should be ashamed to accept it, but 
it’s lovely of you to think of it — Why, Hazel! ” she cried, 
throwing her arm around her, for the tears were rolling 
down Hazel’s cheeks, and her chest heaving with a bona 
fide sob. 

But Hazel flung off the encircling arm and threw herself 
full length upon the settle in an abandonment of woe. 

“ I don’t care anything about your old money,” she sobbed. 
“ I didn’t want it for myself, and I’ve worked so hard pick¬ 
ing berries and all — and you said you’d keep the by-law — 
and I’ve been so happy working to help others, and I never 
would have believed it of you, Rose Blossom, that you’d 
go back on your word — you promised — you promised to 
help others — a regular solemn pl-pledge, Chi says, and now 
—and the only way you could help me — was to let — to 
let me help y-ou-oo-oo! ” 

March and Rose looked at each other aghast at this un¬ 
wonted outburst from Hazel, and Mrs. Blossom, hearing 
the wail, made her appearance from the bedroom. 

“ Why, Hazel dear, what is the matter ? ” she said. 

“ They’ve spoiled all my good times,” sobbed Hazel, re¬ 
fusing to be comforted even when Mrs. Blossom, sitting 
down by her, stroked her head and begged her to sit up and 
tell her all about it. 


A Daughter of the Rich 115 

" Oh, mother! ” cried Rose, holding back the tears as 
well as she could, “ it’s all my fault. It’s my old pride that 
keeps coming up at every little thing, somehow, and I know 
it’ll be the death of me! March has it, too; and between us 
we have made it just horrid for Hazel.” 

“ Why, Rose, what do you mean ? ” asked her mother, 
gravely. 

“ Things that we’ve kept from you, Martie. HazeJ 
wanted to give us the jars and the sugar, and we wouldn’t 
let her; and she wanted to give me a blue wash silk like hers, 
because I said I wished I could afford one like it, —* and 
I — and I was a little angry, and showed it; and March 
spoke up and said we wouldn’t be patronized if we were 
poor —• ” 

“ Why, March Blossom! ” was all his mother said. 

“ Yes,” broke in Budd, ready to place himself on the side 
of righteousness, “ an’ Cherry told her that March called 
her 4 a perfect guy,’ an’ that meant she was homely; an’ that 
Chi said she was awful poor, an’ we were a great deal richer 
than she was, an’ that you wouldn’t have had her here if 
you hadn’t pitied her — ” 

“ Children! ” Not one of them ever remembered to have 
heard their mother speak with such stern anger in her voice. 
“ I’m ashamed of you; you have disgraced your parents’ 
name.” Then she turned to Hazel, drew her up into her 
arms, and said, tenderly: 

“ Hazel, my dear little girl, why didn’t you come to me 
with this trouble? ” 

“ Because — because you weren’t my mother, you were 
theirs; but, oh! I wish you were mine! I love you so — ” 
Hazel flung both arms around Mrs. Blossom’s neck and 
sobbed out, — “ I’ve wanted to call you Mother Blossom and 
hug and kiss you like the rest — but Cherry was so jealous 


116 A Daughter of the Rich 

— the first time I did it — that she — she stuck burrs in my 
bed and led me through the nettle-patch when we were rasp^ 
berrying, because she knew I didn’t know nettles; and Chi 
told me we’d got to be brave if we joined the N. B. B. O. O., 
and I knew I ought to bear it — for I do love to be here — 
and I love them all, for most of the time they’re lovely to me; 

— and I don’t think you’ve been horrid, Rose, only you 
did hurt my feelings when you wouldn’t let me give you 
the blue silk — and — and it isn’t my fault if I am rich, 
and it isn’t fair not to like me for it! ” 

“ No more it ain’t, Lady-bird,” said Chi, who, after 
drawing the back of his hand across his eyes, was apparently 
the only dry-eyed one in the room. March had flung himself 
on the other end of the settle and buried his face deep 
among the patch-work cushions. Rose was sobbing outright 
with her head on her arms as she sat at the dining-room 
table. 

Cherry, in her shame and misery — for she had come to 
love Hazel dearly without wholly conquering her jealousy 

— softly opened the pantry door and slipped inside where 
she sniffed to her heart’s content. As for Budd, he stood 
over the wood box, repiling its contents while the tears ran 
off his nose so fast that he saw all the sticks double through 
them. 

“ You may go to bed, children,” said Mrs. Blossom, still 
holding Hazel in her arms. At this fiat, there was a general 
increase in the humidity of the atmosphere; and, knowing 
perfectly well when their mother spoke in that tone that 
words, tears, or prayers would not avail, they, one and all, 
for Cherry had been listening at the pantry door,— 
made a rush for the stairs and stumbled up, blinded by 
their tears. 


A Daughter of the Rich n 7 

Mrs. Blossom led Hazel still sobbing into her own little 
bedroom, and shut the door. 

Chi, president of the vanished N. B. B. O. O. Society, 
was left alone. He gazed meditatively awhile at the little 
piles of money and the vacant chairs opposite each. Then he 
gathered them up carefully and placed them in orderly rows 
in the wooden box. His next move was to the shed door. 
As he opened it, a gust of wind extinguished the lamp on the 
table. 

“ Guess I’ll go to bed, too/’ said Chi to himself, coming 
back for the box, which the firelight showed plainly enough. 
“ The barometer’s dropped, ’n’ it always makes me feel low 
in my mind.” 

He heaved a prodigious sigh and went out into the shed 
and up the back stairs. The wooden box he put under the 
head of the mattress; he barricaded the door and placed his 
rifle beside it against the wall. Then he turned in and drew 
the coverlet up over his head with another sigh, so long, so 
profound, that it mingled with the wind as it swept through 
the cracks of the shed beneath, and made a part of the dis- 
mality of the night. 

Mrs. Blossom returned to the long-room, and, sitting 
down in her low rocker before the fire, waited. She knew 
her children. 

Soon, it might have been within half an hour, she heard 
Rose call softly at the top of the stairs: — 

“ Martie.” 

“ Yes, Rose.” 

“ May I come?” 

“ Yes, dear.” 

“ O Martie! may I, too? ” wailed Cherry. 

“ Yes.” 


118 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I’m coming, mother,” said March, speaking in a low, 
determined voice through the knot-hole. 

“Very well, March.” 

“ Come along, Budd,” said March, and Budd was only too 
glad to grip his brother’s pajamas and follow after. 

Down they came, tiptoeing in their bare feet, Rose head¬ 
ing the penitential procession. She knelt by her mother’s 
side, and March and Budd and Cherry knelt, too. 

Then, to their mother’s, “ Are you truly ready children? ” 
they answered heartily, “ Yes, Martie.” 

Together they said in subdued but earnest tones, “ Our 
Father ”; together they prayed, “ ‘ Forgive us our trespasses 
as we forgive those who trespass against us ’ ” — and after 
the heart-felt, “ Amen,” each received a kiss by way of 
absolution; and together, until the clock struck ten, they 
talked the whole matter over and resolved to fight their 
Apollyons daily and hourly, and, with God’s grace, conquer 
them. 

These were the rare hours, the memory of which held 
March Blossom in the way of right and honor when he 
went out to battle for himself in the world. These were the 
hours, the memory of which kept him in his college days 
unspotted from the world. It was such an hour that ripened 
Rose Blossom into a thinking, feeling woman, and made 
Budd into a knight of the Twentieth Century. 

It was for such an hour that Jack Sherrill would have 
given his entire fortune. 


XIII 


A SOCIAL ADDITION 

It was a chastened household that gathered about the 
breakfast table the next morning; and for a week after¬ 
wards, every one was so thoughtful and considerate of 
everybody else that Mrs. Blossom said, laughing, to her 
husband; “ They’re so angelic, Ben, I’m afraid they are all 
going to be ill. I declare, I miss their little naughtinesses.” 

Several things had been settled during the week and, 
apparently, to everyone’s satisfaction. At a very serious- 
minded meeting of the N. B. B. O. O., it had been decided 
to keep the larger part of the money in order to start March 
on his career. Not without protest, however, on March’s 
part. But he was overruled. Rose argued that if he were 
going to college, he must begin to prepare that very winter, 
and if their earnings were divided among the five, no one 
would reap any special benefit from them, least of all, March. 

“ I can wait well enough another year, perhaps two,” she 
said; “ and, meanwhile, we’ll be earning more. But you, 
March, ought to be in the academy at Barton’s this very 
minute.” 

“I know it,” said March, dejectedly; “ but I do hate to 
take girls’ money; somehow, it does not seem quite —■ quite 
manly.” 

“ Better remember what your mother talked to you ’bout 
last Sunday, ’bout it’s bein’ more of a blessin’ to give than to 
get,” said Chi, sententiously. 


120 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I do remember, and there’s nobody in the world I’d be 
more willing to take it from than from you, all of you, 
but — ” 

“ Me, too ? ” interrupted Hazel, leaning nearer with great, 
eager, questioning eyes. 

“ Yes, you, too, Hazel,” March replied gently, with such 
unwonted humility of spirit shining through his rare, sweet 
smile, that Hazel bounced up from her seat at the table, and, 
going behind March’s chair, clasped both arms tightly 
around his neck, laid the dark, curly head down upon the 
top of his golden one, exclaiming delightedly: 

“ Oh, March, you are the dearest fellow in the world. 
I never thought you’d give in so — and I love you for it! 
There now,” — with a big squeeze of the golden head — 
“ you’ve made me superfluously happy.” Hazel took her 
seat, flushed rosy red in pleasurable anticipation of being 
allowed at last, to give to those she loved, and wholly un¬ 
mindful of her slip of the tongue. 

“ Now that’s settled, I move that each of you keep three 
dollars of that money ’gainst the Wishin’-Tree business. 
Chris’mus ’ll be here ’fore you can say * Jack Robinson.’ ” 

“ Second the motion,” said Budd and Cherry in the same 
breath. 

It was a unanimous vote. 

“ There is just one thing I want to say,” said March, 
who, in a bewilderment of happy emotions, had been unable 
to reply one word to Hazel, “ and that is, that I want you 
to consider that you have lent it to me and let me have 
the pleasure of paying back, sometime, when I am a man.” 

“ That’s fair enough,” said Chi. “ I glory in your inde¬ 
pendence, Markis. That’s the right kind to have. Put it 
to vote.” 

Again there was a unanimous vote of approval, for they 


121 


A Daughter of the Rich 

all knew that to one of March’s proud spirit it meant much 
to accept the money, from the girls especially; and they 
felt it would make him happier if he were to accept it as a 
loan. 

“ I can save a lot by not boarding down at Barton’s, and 
by working for my board at the tavern, or in some family,” 
said March, thoughtfully. 

“ No you don’t,” said Chi, emphatically. “ ’T ain’t no 
way for a boy to be doin’ chores before he goes to school in 
the mornin’ ’n’ tendin’ horses after he gets out in the after¬ 
noon. If you’re goin’ to try for college in two years, you’ve 
got to buckle right down to it — ’n’ not waste time workin’ 
for other folks that ain’t your own. Here comes Mis’ Blos¬ 
som, we’ll ask her what she has to say about it.” 

“Why, Martie, where have you been all this afternoon? 
I saw you and father driving off in such a sly sort of way, 
I knew you didn’t want us to know where you were going. 
Now, ’fess! ” laughed Rose. 

“ ’Fess, ’fess, Martie!” cried Budd and Cherry, hilari¬ 
ously breaking up the meeting. “We’ve got you now!” 
And without more ado they anchored her to the settle, each 
linked to an arm, while Hazel took off her hood, March drew 
off her rubbers, and Rose unpinned her shawl. 

Mrs. Blossom laughed. “ No, you guess,” she replied. 

“ Down to the Mill Settlement? ” 

“ Wrong.” 

“ Over to Aunt Tryphosa’s? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Down to see the Spillkinses ? ” 

“ Wrong again.” 

“ Over eastwards to the Morris farm,” said Chi. 

“ Right,” said Mrs. Blossom, smiling. “ How did you 
know, Chi? ” 


122 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I didn’t, just guessed it; coz I knew the new folks was 
goin to move in this week.” 

“ What new folks ? ” chorussed the children in surprise. 

“ An addition to the Lost Nation,” replied their mother, 
“ and a very charming one. Now there are five families on 
our Mountain.” 

“ Who are they, Martie? ” — “ Are you going to ask them 
to Thanksgiving, too?” — ‘‘What’s their name?” — 
“ How many are there of them? ” — “ Any boys? ” They 
were all talking together. 

“ One at a time, please,” laughed Mrs. Blossom, putting 
her hands over her ears. “ I never heard such mill-clap¬ 
pers ! ” 

“ Do hurry up mother,” said March, appealingly. 

“ A young man from New Haven has taken the lease of 
the farm for three years. He has his mother and sister with 
him. He was in the law school at Yale until last spring; 
then his father died, and his sister, a little older than you, 
Rose, was injured in some accident — I don’t know what it 
was — and now she is very delicate. The doctor says if 
she can live in this mountain country for a few years, she 
may recover her health. The brother and mother are per¬ 
fectly devoted to her. She calls herself a ‘ Shut-in ’ — ” 

“ Then she can’t come over for Thanksgiving dinner,” 
said Rose, interrupting. 

“ Not this year, but I hope she may next.” 

“ Did he give up college for his sister’s sake ? ” asked 
March. 

“ He gave up the last year of his law course; they could 
not afford to travel so many years for the benefit of her 
health, so they came up here. I do pity them; it must be 
such a change. But, oh, March! how you will enjoy that 
house! They have been there only a week, yet it looks as if 


A Daughter of the Rich 123 

they had lived there always. They have such beautiful 
framed photographs of places they visited when they were 
in Europe with their father, and cases of books, and a 
grand piano — I don’t see how they ever got it up the Moun¬ 
tain. The young man and his mother both play, and he plays 
the violin, too.” 

The children and Chi were listening open-eyed as Mrs. 
Blossom went on enthusiastically: — 

“ It’s just like a fairy story, only it’s all true. Just two 
weeks ago, when your father and I drove by there, that 
long, rambling house looked so bleak and bare and desolate 
— your father and I always call it the * House of the Seven 
Gables,’ for there are just seven — and the spruce woods 
behind it looked fairly black, and the wind drew through the 
pines by the south door with such an eerie sound, that I 
shivered. And to-day, what a change! All the shutters were 
open, and muslin curtains at the windows, and the sun was 
streaming into the four windows of the great south room 
that they have made their living-room. There was a roaring 
big fire in the hall fireplace, and plants — oh, Rose, you 
should see them! palms and rubber trees and sword ferns, — 
and lovely rugs, and —* I can’t begin to tell you about it; 
you must go and see for yourselves.” Mrs. Blossom paused 
for breath, with a glad light in her eyes. 

“ It sounds too good to be true,” said Rose, “ and you 
look as if you had been to a real party, Martie.” 

“ Well, I have, my dear. Just to see such people and 
such a house is a party for me.” 

“ And you can keep having it, too, can’t you, Martie ? 
because they’re going to be neighbors,” cried Cherry, every 
individual curl dancing and bobbing with excitement. 

“ Is the young man good-looking ? ” asked Hazel, ear¬ 
nestly. 


124 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Very,” replied Mrs. Blossom, smiling. 

“As handsome as Jack?” said Hazel. 

“Very different looking, Hazel; quiet and grave, but 
genial. Not so tall as Mr. Sherrill, I should say; talks but 
little, but what he says is well worth listening to — and 
when he smiled! I didn’t hear him laugh, but I know he 
can enjoy fun. He has a fine saddle horse, Chi, and he 
wants you to come and give him some advice about selecting 
stock.” 

“ ’Fraid he’s too high-toned for me,” said Chi, modestly; 
“ but if I can help him anyway, I’d like to. Seems a likely 
young man from all you say.” 

“ He’s more than ‘ likely,’ Chi,” returned Mrs. Blossom, 
with a twinkle in her eye that only Chi caught. 

“ Speakin’ of horses, Mis’ Blossom, we’ve decided to 
send March to the Academy at Barton’s, ’n’ if I let him 
have Fleet, he could come ’n’ go, a matter of sixteen miles 
a day, without bein’ from home nights. I don’t approve of 
that for boys.” 

“No, indeed, neither his father nor I would think of 
such a thing for a moment. But how kind of you, Chi, to 
let March have Fleet.” 

“ I want to help on the college education all I can; ’n’ 
if our boy wants to go, he’s goin’ to have the best to get 
him there so far as I’m concerned.” 

“ I don’t know how to thank you, Chi,” said March, “ but 
I’ll treat Fleet like a lady and I’ll study like a — like a house 
on fire. I don’t envy that other fellow his saddle horse if I 
can have Fleet. What’s his name, mother? you haven’t told 
us yet.” 

“ Why, so I haven’t — Ford, Alan Ford, and his sister’s 
name is Ruth.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 125 

“ When can we go over and see them, Martie?” said 
Rose. 

“ I thought two or three days after Thanksgiving, and then 
you can take a little neighborly thank-offering with you.” 

“ What can we take? ” queried Cherry. 

“ Oh, a mince pie or two, some raspberry preserves, a 
comb of last summer’s honey, a pat of butter, a nice bunch 
of our white-plume celery, and perhaps, Chi could find a 
brace of partridges.” 

“ M-m — doesn’t that sound good-tasting! ” said Cherry, 
patting her chest ecstatically. 

“Who’s coming for Thanksgiving, Martie?” asked 
Budd. 

“All the Lost Nation — the Spillkinses and Aunt Try- 
phosa and Maria-Ann, Lemuel and his wife and—who 
else? Guess.” 

“ Why, that’s all.” 

“ Not this year, you forget your new teacher, Budd. She 
boards around, and it’s the Mountain’s year, so she is at 
Lemuel’s now.” 

“ Oh, good! ” cried Budd enthusiastically. “ She’s a 
daisy. I know you’ll like her, Hazel. All the fellows are 
awfully soft on her, though — bring her butternut candy, 
an’ sharpen her pencils, an’ black the stove, an’ wash off the 
black-board; an’ I saw Billy Nye sneak out the other day 
and wipe the mud off her rubbers with his paper lunch-bag! 
Catch me doing it, though,” he added, his chest swelling 
rather pompously as he straightened himself and thrust his 
hands deep into the pockets of his knickerbockers. 

“ Why not ? ” his mother asked with an amused smile. 

“ Oh, coz,” was Budd’s rather sheepish reply, and there¬ 
upon he followed Chi out to the barn, whistling “ Dixie ” 
with might and main. 


XIV 


THE LOST NATION 

The four families on Mount Hunger were known to the 
towns about as The Lost Nation. Two of them, the Blos¬ 
soms and the Spillkinses, were, in reality, lumber-dealers 
rather than farmers. The third, Lemuel Wood, had a sheep 
farm, and Aunt Tryphosa Little with her granddaughter, 
Maria-Ann, was the fourth. The two women owned a 
spruce wood-lot and let it out to men who cut the bark. 
They cultivated a small garden-patch of corn, beans, and 
squash, kept a cow and a few hens, and eked out their scanty 
income with a day’s work here and there in fine weather. 

Every two weeks they did the washing and ironing for 
the Blossom family, as Mrs. Blossom’s cares were too heavy 
for her, and she felt that not only could she afford it this 
year, but that in putting it out she was giving a little help 
to her poorer neighbors. 

Chi or March took the huge basket of linen over on the 
wagon or sledge, and always left with it a neighborly gift 
— a peck of fine russets or greenings, a bunch of celery, a 
pound or two of salt pork, a bunch of delicious parsnips, or 
a dozen eggs when the old dame’s hens were moulting. 
Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann were not to be outdone in 
neighborly kindnesses, and, regularly, the willow basket, full 
to overflowing with snow-white clothes, was returned with 
something tucked away under the square covering of oil¬ 
cloth — a tiny bunch of sage or summer savory, an ironing- 


A Daughter of the Rich 127 

holder made of bits of bright calico or woollen rags, a little 
paper-bag of spruce gum, a pair of woollen wristers for Mr. 
Blossom or Chi, a new recipe for spring bitters with a sample 
of the herbs — sassafras, dockroot, thoroughwort, winter- 
green, and dandelion — gathered by Aunt Tryphosa herself. 

They had one cow which they regarded as the third mem¬ 
ber of their family. She had been named Dorcas, after 
Aunt Tryphosa’s mother, and proved a model animal of her 
kind. She gave a more than ordinary amount of creamy 
milk; presented her mistress with a sturdy calf each year; 
never hooked or kicked; never, during the bitter winter 
weather, grew restless in her small shed which adjoined the 
woodshed, and never broke from pasture in the sweet-smell¬ 
ing summer-time. 

Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann vied with each other in 
petting her. They brushed her coat as regularly as they did 
up their own back hair. They gave her a weekly scrubbing 
as conscientiously as they took their Saturday bath. For 
cold nights Aunt Tryphosa had made for her a nightdress of 
red flannel (although she had never heard of “ Cranford ”), 
which she and Maria-Ann had planned to fit the cow- 
anatomy, and it had proved a great success. 

For the midsummer fly-time they had contrived a won¬ 
derfully fashioned garment of coarse fish-netting, into 
which they had knotted a cotton fringe. They claimed, and 
rightly, that freedom from chill and irritation, incident upon 
zero weather and August dog-days, affected the milk most 
favorably, both in quantity and quality; and, as it all went 
to make delicious small cheeses, which sold at Barton’s River 
for twenty-five cents apiece and were renowned throughout 
the county, people had ceased to laugh at the cow’s appear¬ 
ance. 

It had become one of Hazel’s great treats to be permitted 


128 


A Daughter of the Rich 

to go with March or Chi to the little house — not much 
more than a cabin — on the east side of the Mountain; and 
when she knew that the two were to be guests for Thanks¬ 
giving, but not for Christmas, she began to lay plans ac¬ 
cordingly. 

The Spillkinses were an aged set, not one was under 
seventy. 

There were the Captain and his wife, who had cele¬ 
brated their Golden Wedding, and his wife’s two maiden 
sisters, Melissa and Elvira, of whom he always spoke as 
the “ girls.” They were funny old maidens of seventy-one 
and two, who did up their hair in curl-papers, precisely as 
they did a half a century ago; wore black cotton mitts when 
they went to church, and white silk ones when they went out 
to tea; called each other “ Lissy ” and “ Elly,” and were still 
sensitive in regard to their ages. 

In addition to these, the old, gray-shingled, vine-covered 
farmhouse on the lower mountain-road, sheltered the Cap¬ 
tain’s elder brother, Israel, who was just turned ninety- 
three, hale and hearty, and Israel’s eldest son, Reuben, a 
youth of seventy, who in our North Country parlance “ was 
not all there,” but harmless, kindly, and generally helpful. 

All these, together with Lemuel Wood and his wife, and 
the new teacher, were to be Thanksgiving guests, and won¬ 
derful preparations went on for days beforehand. 

Such a sorting and paring and chopping of apples! Such 
a seeding of raisins, and whipping of eggs, and compounding 
of cakes! Such a tucking away of chickens beneath the 
flaky crust of the huge pie! Such a moulding of cranberry 
jelly, so deeply, darkly, richly red! Such a cracking of 
butternuts, and a melting of maple sugar! Such a stuffing 
of an eighteen-pound turkey, and such a trussing of thin- 
linked sausages! Such a making of goodly pies, pumpkin, 


129 


A Daughter of the Rich 

mince, and apple! Such a quartering of small cheeses con¬ 
tributed by Aunt Tryphosa! Such an unbottling of sweet 
pickles, and unbarrelling of sweet cider;—and, on the final 
day, such a general boiling, and baking, and roasting, and 
basting, and mashing, and grinding, and seasoning, and 
whipping, and cutting, and kneading, and rolling, as can 
occur only once a year in an old-fashioned, New England 
farmhouse. 

Hazel was in her glory. Arrayed in a checked gingham 
apron, which she had made herself, she beat eggs, whipped 
cream, helped Rose set the table, wiped the dishes and baking- 
pans, basted the noble Thanksgiving bird once, as a great 
privilege, although in so doing, she burned her fingers with 
the sputtering fat, scorched her apron, and parboiled her 
already flushed face with the escaping steam. But she was 
happy! 

“ Oh, papa! ” she wrote the day after the party, " I never had 
such a good time in my life! If only you could see the things 
we made ! — apple and lemon tarts, and mince and cranberry ‘ turn¬ 
overs/ and doughnuts all twisted into a sort of French bow-knot 
such as Gabrielle used to make of her back hair, and a queer 
kind of cake they call ‘ marble/ all streaky with chocolate and 
white, and butternut candy made with maple sugar, and an Indian 
pudding, and little bits of nut-cakes with a small piece of currant 
jelly inside and all powdered sugar out; and — oh, I can’t begin 
to tell you, for this is only a part of the dessert. 

“ I’ll try to paragraph this letter in the right places so you’ll 
understand about the party. 

“All the Lost Nation was invited; Captain and Mrs. Spillkins, 
Miss Melissa and Miss Elvira, Uncle Israel and Poor Reub, Mr. 
Lemuel Wood and his wife, and Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, 
and— Oh, I forgot Miss Alton. She’s awfully sweet; she is 
Budd and Cherry’s teacher in the district school at the Mill Settle¬ 
ment. She’s more like a city person than the others. I wish 
you’d been here! for I can’t tell it half as nice as it was; but I’ll 
do my best because you wrote you wanted me to tell you every¬ 
thing. 

“ We were already for the party at eleven o’clock — in the 
morning, I mean—(I can’t remember the sign for forenoon). 


130 A Daughter of the Rich 

We don’t have any lunch up here, as you know, but the dinner 
conies between 12 and 1, so everything was ready then. I got 
up at five o’clock! and worked hard till it was time to change 
my gown. 

“It was awfully cold. Chi said the thermometer .was shivering 
when he looked at it just after breakfast; he means by that, it’s 
below zero—-a good deal; and I couldn’t help thinking how cosy 
and warm and deliciously smelly it would be for the Lost Nation 
when they came in out of the cold into the long-room and saw 
the table (it looked beautiful, with baskets of red apples, and nuts 
and raisins, and a big centre-piece of red geranium) just loaded 
with goodies. 

“ March had driven over for Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, 
and they arrived first — Mrs. Blossom says they always do. (I 
want you to go over and call on them when you are up here Christ¬ 
mas; it’s just like a story in Hans Andersen; they keep a cow, 
Dorcas, who wears a kimono on very cold nights.) 

“March helped Aunt Tryphosa out just as if she had been 
Queen Victoria. (I forgot to tell you she and Maria-Ann do our 
laundry work.) March is perfectly splendid about such things 
— and Maria-Ann sort of bounced out, although Chi held out 
his hand to help her. It’s so funny to see them together! Aunt 
Tryphosa is so small and wrinkled and thin that, sometimes, Chi 
says he has known a good wind to knock her right over; and 
Maria-Ann is almost as tall as Chi, and stout and rosy-cheeked, 
with nice brown eyes that talk to you. 

“ And, oh, papa! — I’ll tell you, but it’s a confidence — I saw 
Aunt Tryphosa shiver hard when she came into the house, and 
I’m afraid she did not have enough warm things on. I know 
her shawl wasn’t very thick, for I went into the bedroom after¬ 
wards and felt of it; and she had no furs at all! Think of that 
with the thermometer way down below zero, papa! I’ll tell you 
all about it when you come. 

“ Well, after Mrs. Blossom had given the old lady a cup of 
hot tea, she felt better and began to talk; and, honestly, papa, 
she never stopped talking all day long! March said he timed 
her. She lives away over on the east side of the Mountain 
away from everybody, and yet she knows everything that is 
going on, on the Mountain, and at the Mill Settlement, and at 
Barton’s River, and that, as you know, is quite a large place. 

“ She told us all about the new neighbors in the seven-gabled- 
house ; how they had their dinner at bed-time, and what 1 help ’ 
they have, and whom they are going to have for hired man, and 
how they have music every night after dinner, and how the 
lights weren’t put out in the north-east chamber till one o’clock. 
She even knew the pattern of lace on the underclothes that 


A Daughter of the Rich 131 

were hung out to dry! and Maria-Ann was trying to crochet 
some in imitation; I saw it myself. 

“ And she said that one of the chambers was all lined with 
books, and another just covered, floor and walls, with pictures 
— what can she mean, papa? and that down stairs off the living- 
room in what used to be old Mrs. Morris's milk-room, there 
were ropes, and weights, and pulleys, and a stretcher, and iron 
balls, and that every one said it didn’t have the right look. But 
she said she meant to stand up for them, because the young man 
had come over to call just two or three days ago and said, as 
she was his nearest neighbor, they ought to become acquainted 
before winter set in; and he ordered a half a dozen cheeses and 
brought word from his mother that she would like them to come 
over and see her daughter, for $he thought Maria-Ann might 
be able to do something for her. Now, what do you suppose it 
all means? 

" Of course, it makes us all wild to go over there, and I hope 
we shall go soon. 

“ But, oh! if you could see the Spillkinses! I had to go off 
up stairs and bury my face in Rose’s feather bed so I could 
laugh without being heard. They’re the funniest lot of people 
I ever saw. They all came over in a big wagon filled with straw, 
and before they came in sight, Chi said, ‘ They’re coming, I know 
by the cackle’; and, papa, that is just what it was. 

“ They are all awfully aged, but they act just like young people, 
and Mrs. Blossom says it’s their young hearts that keep them 
so young. 

“ Uncle Israel, he’s ninety-three, but he wears a dark brown 
wig and looks younger than his son, Poor Reub, who is seventy 
and has snow-white hair. Mrs. Spillkins wears what they call 
up here a ‘false front’; it’s just the color of Uncle Israel’s, 
so she looks more like his sister. But her two sisters, Miss 
Melissa and Miss Elvira, are perfectly comical. They’re just 
as small as Aunt Tryphosa, but they don’t talk; only nod and 
smile and bow as if they were talking. They have little cork¬ 
screw curls, three on each temple, and they bob and shake when 
they nod and smile and sort of chirrup; it’s the Captain and his 
wife and Uncle Israel who cackle so when they laugh. Poor 
Reuben doesn’t say much either, only he looks perfectly happy, 
and always sits by his father when he can get a chance. Chi was 
just lovely to him all the afternoon. 

“ Well, after Mr. Wood and his wife and the new teacher 
came, we all sat down to dinner, and Mr. Blossom said ‘grace,’ 
and all the Spillkinses said ‘Amen/ which surprised us all very 
much. 

“We don’t have courses up here, because there is nobody to 
serve us; so everything is put on your plate at once, except, 


132 A Daughter of the Rich 

of course, dessert, and papa! — I wouldn’t say it to any one 
but you, but I never saw any one eat so much as Aunt Tryphosa 
for all she is so small and thin. Mr. Blossom piled her plate up 
twice with turkey, and squash, and onion, and potato, and turnip, 
and then she helped herself to cranberry jelly and sweet pickles 
three times; and yet she managed to talk all the time; and the 
queer part of it was that she didn’t cut herself once, they all eat 
with their knives — except, of course, our family and Miss Alton. 

“ Rose and Cherry and I removed the dinner plates, and that 
was all the waiting there was. 

“We sat till half-past three at the table; then Uncle Israel 
said another ‘ grace ’ — ‘ after-grace,’ he called it, — and Mr. 
Blossom and Chi took the — the gentlemen part out to see the 
horses and cows, and all the rest went to work to clear off the 
table and do up the dishes. There were so many of us it didn’t 
take long, and then we lighted the lamps, and all the — the ladies 
took out their knitting and began to work as fast as they could. 

“ Then in a little while all the — the gentlemen came in, and 
the ladies put up their work, and they all sat round the room 
and sang Auld Lang Syne. Rose led, and Miss Alton sang a 
lovely alto. It was lovely, and I longed to have you with me. 
Then Captain Spillkins said it was time to hitch up, and Chi 
said it was time to be going as it was very dark and cold. He 
drove Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann home, and Mrs. Blossom 
filled a large basket with all sorts of goodies, and Mr. Blossom 
set it in behind in the apple-green cart without their knowing 
it; so now they can have a surprise party of their own and 
Thanksgiving for a whole week. 

" There! This is the longest letter I ever wrote in all my 
life. I’ve written it at different times during the day. I ate 
so much yesterday, that I don’t feel very bright to-day, so you 
must excuse any mistakes, although I’ve used the dictionery as 
you wanted me to. 

“ Always your loving, and now your dreadfully sleepy 

“ Daughter Hazel. 

“ P. S. I think I shall feel better, if I tell you that we all had 
a very unhappy time two weeks ago. I had a really dreadful 
heartache, papa, and, for the first time, was homesick for you. 

“ You see, March and Rose are very proud of spirit, and I 
don’t think they liked it in me because we are rich — but you 
and I understand each other, don’t we? and know that being 
rich doesn’t mean anything to us, does it? and then, too, Chi 
says we’re poor because we haven’t so much family to love as 
the Blossoms have, and that’s true, too, isn’t it?— and I think 
that kind of poorness ought to balance our riches, don’t you? 
And — well, I can’t explain how it all came about, but now they 


A Daughter of the Rich 133 

are willing to let me give them things when I want to, and that 
makes me very happy, and we are all a great deal happier than 
we were before, and Fm going to call Mrs. Blossom ‘ Mother 
Blossom/ after this, she says she wants me to, and she takes me 
in her arms just as she does Rose and Cherry, and we talk things 
over together; so everything is all right now. 

“ Please send up my violin by express when you receive this. 
There is a very good-looking young man, the new neighbor at 
the seven-gabled-house, and he plays the violin, too, and his 
mother the piano. Love to Wilkins and Minna-Lu. I’ll send 
him a present from here — Oh, I forgot! don’t forget to write 
Chi within a week sure, to inform you about the Wishing-Tree, 
and don’t buy any presents for anybody till you hear from him. 
H. C.” 

When Mr. Clyde read this long letter at the breakfast table, 
his face was the despair of Wilkins, who hovered about, 
seeking, ineffectually, for an excuse to ask about Miss Hazel. 

“ Doan know what kin’ er news Marse John get from 
little Missy,” he told Minna-Lu, the cook; “ but he laffed 
pow’ful part de time, an’ den he grow powful sober, an’ de 
fust ting I know, de tears come splashin’ onto de paper, an’ 
he speak up rale sharp, 4 Wha’ fo’ yo’ hyar, Wilkins ? ’ an’ 
say in’ nuffin’, I jes’ makes tracks, case I see he wan’s no¬ 
buddy see dem tears. — Fo’ Gawd, I’se be glad when little 
Missy come home.” 

Mr. Clyde took this manuscript, as he called it, over to 
the Doctor. 

“ There Dick, read that,” was all he said. 

After the Doctor had read it, he whisked out his hand¬ 
kerchief in a remarkably suspicious manner, and Mr. Clyde 
busied himself with a medical journal without reading one 
word, till the Doctor spoke: 

“ I say, Johnny, let’s get up a theatre party of us two for 
the Old Homestead to-night; it’s the nearest thing we can 
get to this of Hazel’s.” 

“ You always hit the right thing, Dick, I’ll call for you 
at eight.” 


XV 


WISHING-TREE SECRETS 

All-hallow-e'en had come and gone. 

The exercises about the tree had been carried out with 
great success — tom-toms, \var-whoop, song] and dance. 
After supper, the apples had been roasted, and the whole 
family “ bobbed ” for them in the wash-tub; father, mother, 
Chi, and even little May joining heartily in the fun. Then 
they had melted lead, sailed nutshells freighted with wishes, 
and finally “ loved their Loves ” with all the letters of the 
alphabet. 

When all were off to bea and sound asleep, Chi took his 
lantern, and went up again to the old butternut tree in the 
corner of the pasture. 

It was preparing to snow. A chill wind drew through 
the bare branches, and caused a wild commotion among the 
roosters’ tail feathers that dangled from one of the lower 
ones. 

Chi unlocked the little door, and from the hollow took out 
a handful of notes. He thrust them into the side pocket of 
his coat, relocked the door, and went back to his room over 
the shed. There, by the light of the lantern, he read them 
and rejoiced over them; re-read them and cried a little over 
them, nor was he ashamed of his tears; for in the precious 
missives, Rose and Hazel, March and Budd and Cherry, had 
shown, as in a mirror, the workings of their loving hearts. 


A Daughter of the Rich 135 

All-hallow-e’en. 

My dear Mother, — I have a great favor to ask of you and 
father. Will you hang up your stockings this year and let us 
children fill them instead of your filling ours? I don’t want 
you to take one cent of the money you are earning by having 
Hazel here to buy me anything. I want every penny of it to 
go to pay off that mortgage you told us of — for I feel just as 
you do about it, and only wish I had known it last Hallow-e’en 
when I asked for the paints and brushes. It makes me sick 
just to think of all we asked for, and you not having any money 
to buy them with — and never telling us ! Oh, mother! 

Your devoted son, 

March Blossom. 

All-hallow-e’en. 

My dear Popsy, — Me and Cherry want to help you and Martie 
pay off the morgige she told us about. March says it is a dread- 
full thing that we must get rid of just as soon as we can. So Cherry 
and me are going to give you 2 dollars apeace out of our $3 we 
saved for ourselves out of the jam and the chickens as we voted 
in the N. B. B. O. O. That will make four dollars and March 
says it will be just V300 of what you owe and will help a great 
deal. I think the other $1 we have left will be enough to buy 
presents for the rest of the family, don’t you? 

Your Son, 

Budd Blossom. 

P. S. I meant to say I don’t expect anything this year ’cause 

last year I asked for a double-runner and a bat and a new cap 

with fir on the edges like the boys at Barton’s and 20 cents to 
buy marbles with and I didn’t get them ’cause you were sick 

and I’m sorry I asked for so much to bother you when you 

were sick. B. B. 

Dear Friend Chi, — Do you think you can find out in some 
way what March and Budd would like for Christmas? And if 
you know anything special that Rose wants very specially , please 
let me know at your earliest convenience so I can send to New 
York for it. I should like to consult you about some gifts for 
Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and if you could get a chance 
to take me down to the Barton’s River shops all alone by myself, 
I should esteem it a great favor. 

Your true friend, 


Hazel Clyde. 


136 


A Daughter of the Rich 

All-hallow-e’en. 


P. S. I’m rather anxious about the note I put in the Wish- 
ing-Tree for papa. 


All-hallow-e’en. 


Darling Pater Noster, — When I think of last year, my heart 
aches for you and my precious Martie. Oh, why didn’t she tell 
us before! I never should have asked for that dress and the 
French grammar and dictionary and the cheap set of Dickens’, 
if I had only known. 

Do, Pater dear, let us know in the future if you are in trouble, 
and let us help share it. Wouldn’t that make it easier for you? 

Now a favor; I want you and Martie to play boy and girl 
again this year and hang up your stockings for a change; and 
please, please, father dear, don’t give us anything this year — 
we don’t want anything but you and Martie, and besides, we 
have money of our own! Chi calls us “bloated bond-holders,” 
and says we have formed a “ combine.” 

Your loving daughter, 

Rose Blossom. 


Dearest Cousin Jack, — I haven’t answered your letter be¬ 
cause I’ve been having too good a time. This is only a Wishing- 
Tree note; I want you to do me a favor, please; find out what 
I can buy nice for papa with a dollar. I’ve earned it myself 
(and a great deal more, Jack, you would be surprised if you knew 
how much the preserves and chickens came to) and want him 
to have a present out of it. Then, I would like to buy something 
for Doctor Heath, about fifty cents’ worth, and another fifty cents’ 
worth for Mrs. Heath. I want to give Aunt Carrie a little some¬ 
thing, too, out of my own earnings; (I’ve all my two quarterly 
allowances besides,) I can afford fifty cents for her; and then I 
would like to remember Wilkins with a little gift out of my earn¬ 
ings for mamma’s sake as well as my own, and then I shall have 
twenty-five cents left of the money I worked for. The rest we all 
voted to put aside for March to help him through college. He 
wants to be an arcitect, you know, and he draws beautifully. I 
shall be glad of your advice. 

In haste, yours devotedly, 

Hazel. 

All-hallow-e’en, Mount Hunger. 

Dear Chi, — May wants a doll the kind she saw last summer 
down at Barton’s River. I’ve got only a dollar to spend for all 
the family, so will you plese ask the pris for me as I am afrade 


A Daughter of the Rich 137 


it will be to high. There is a big french one in the right hand 
window at Smith’s store with a libel on it 7$, and I play it’s 
mine when I am down there and you are buying horse-feed. I 
have named her Emilie Angelique. Rose spelt it for me. 

Your loving Cherry Bounce. 


Dear old Chi, — If you can find out what Hazel would like 
specially for Christmas, just let me know. 


March. 


Dear Chi, — Can you manage to get us all down to Barton’s 
some Saturday to do some Christmas shopping? 

Your Rose-pose. 


All-hallow-e’en. 

Dearest Papa, — Will you please ask Aunt Carrie to please 
help you buy these Christmas things? I enclose fifty dollars; 
(your check.) 

A white serge dress pattern, like mine. 

A book of lovely foreign photographs of buildings and pictures 
for March. 

2 pairs of white kid gloves, number 6. 

2 pairs of tan kid gloves, number 

1 pair fur-lined gloves for March. 

1 pair ditto for Mr. Blossom. 

A year’s subscription for the Woman’s Hearthstone Journal 
for Maria-Ann. 

A small shirt waist ironing-board for Aunt Tryphosa. 

1 pair brown woolen gloves and one pair of those fleece-lined 
beaver gauntlet driving gloves like those of yours, for Chi. 

1 blue Kardigan jacket for Chi. 

The other things I think I can get at Barton’s River. 

Your devoted daughter, 

Hazel Clyde. 


“ Well,” said Chi, thoughtfully, as he finished reading 
them a second time, “ I’ve got more than one string to my 
bow this year. Beats all, how Chris’mus limbers up a man’s 
feelin’sl Guess ’t was meant for all of us children of a 
lovin’ Father.” So saying, Chi knelt beside his bed, and, 
dropping his face in his hands, remained there motionless for 
a few minutes, while his loving, gentle, manly “ soul was on 
its knees.” 


XVI 


A CHRISTMAS PRELUDE 

“ It’s goin , to be an awful cold night, grandmarm,” said 
Maria-Ann as she stepped to the door just after sunset on 
Christmas eve. The old dame followed her and looked out 
over her shoulder. 

“ I know’t is; my fingers stuck to the latch when I went 
out to see after Dorcas. While your gettin’ supper, I’m 
goin’ to bundle up the rooster and the hens, or they’ll freeze 
their combs, sure’s your name’s Maria-Ann; looks kinder 
Chris’musy, don’t it ? ” 

“ I was just thinkin’ of that, grandmarm; just look at 
that star in the east! ” She pointed to a shoulder of the 
Mountain, where a serene planet was ascending the dark 
blue heavens. “ An’ there’s been just enough snow to make 
all the spruces look like the Sunday School tree, all roped 
over with pop-corn. ,Do you remember that la'^t one, 
grandmarm ? ” 

“ I ain’t never forgot it, Maria-Ann; that’s ten year ago, 
an’ I shan’t never see another.” She shivered, and drew 
back out of the keen air. 

“ Nor I,” said Maria-Ann, shutting the door. 

“ I don’t know why not,” snapped Aunt Tryphosa, who 
always contradicted Maria-Ann when she could. “ I guess 
we can have a Chris’mus tree same’s other folks; we’ve got 
trees enough.” 

“ That’s so,” replied Maria-Ann, laughing. “ Let’s have 


A Daughter of the Rich 139 

one to-morrow, grandmarm. I don’t see why we can’t have 
a tree just as well as we can have wreaths — see what beau¬ 
ties I’ve made! I’ve save the four handsomest for Mis’ 
Blossom an’ Mis’ Ford.” 

“ You do beat all, Maria-Ann, making wreaths with them 
greens and bitter-sweet; I wish you’d hang ’em up to-night; 
’t would make the room seem kinder Chris’musy.” 

“To be sure I will.” And Maria-Ann bustled about, 
hanging the beautiful rounds of green and red in each of the 
kitchen windows, on the panes of which the frost was 
already sparkling; then, throwing her shawl over her head, 
she stepped out into the night and hung one on the outside 
of the narrow, weather-blackened door. Again within, 
she set the small, square kitchen table with two plates, two 
cups and saucers of brown and white crockery, the pewter 
spoons and horn-handled knives and forks that her grand¬ 
mother had had when she was first married. Finally, she 
put on one of the pots of red geranium in the centre and 
stood back to admire the effect. 

“ Guess we’ll have a treat to-night, seem’ it’s night before 
Chris’mus—fried apples an’ pork, an’ some toast; an’ I’ll 
cut a cheese to-night, I declare I will, even if grandmarm 
does scold; she’ll eat it fast enough if I don’t say nothin’ 
about it beforehand.” 

Maria-Ann had formed the habit of thinking aloud, for 
she had been much alone, and, as she said, “ she was a good 
deal of company for herself.” 

“ Oh, hum! ” she sighed, as she cut the pork and sliced 
the apples, “ a cup of tea would be about the right thing this 
cold night, but there ain’t a mite in the house.” Then she 
laughed: “ What you talkin’ ’bout luxuries for, Maria-Ann 
Simmons ? You be thankful you’ve got a livin’. I can make 
some good cambric-tea, and put a little spearmint in it; 


140 A Daughter of the Rich 

that’ll be warmin’ as anything.” She began to sing in a 
shrill soprano as she busied herself with the preparations 
for the supper, while the kettle sang, too, and the pork 
sizzled in the spider: 

“ * Must I be carried to the skies 
On flowery beds of ease, 

While others fought to win the prize 
And sailed through bloody seas ? ' ” 

Meanwhile, Aunt Tryphosa, with her lantern in one hand 
and a bundle of red something in the other, had repaired to 
the hen-house which was partitioned off from the wood-shed. 

Had either one of them happened to look out down the 
Mountain-road just a this time, they would have seen a 
strange sight. 

Along the white roadway, sparkling in the light of the 
rising moon, came six silent forms in Indian file. Two 
were harnessed to small loaded sledges. Sometimes, all six 
gesticulated wildly; at others, the two who brought up the' 
rear of the file silently danced and capered back and forth 
across the narrow way. They drew near the house on the 
woodshed side; the first two freed themselves from the 
sledges, and left them under one of the unlighted windows. 
Then all six, attracted by the glimmer of the lantern shining 
from the one small aperture of the hen-house, stole up 
noiselessly and looked in. 

What they saw proved too much for their risibles, and 
suppressed giggles and snickers and choking laughter nearly 
betrayed their presence to the old dame within. 

On the low roost sat Aunt Tryphosa’s noble Plymouth 
Rock rooster, and beside him, in an orderly row, her ten 
hens. Every hen had on her head a tiny flannel hood — 
some were red, some were white — the strings knotted 


A Daughter of the Rich 141 

firmly under their bills by Aunt Tryphosa’s old fingers 
trembling with the cold. 

She was just blanketing the rooster, who submitted with a 
meekness which proved undeniably that he was under petti-* 
coat government, for all the airs he gave himself with his 
wives. The funny, little, hooded heads twisting and turn¬ 
ing, the “ aks ” and “ oks ” which accompanied Aunt Try- 
phosa in her labor of love, the wild stretching and flapping 
of wings, all furnished a scene never to be forgotten by the 
six pairs of laughing eyes that beheld it. 

The moment the old dame took up her lantern, the spec¬ 
tators sped around the corner. Under the dark windows 
they noiselessly unloaded the wood-sleds, and silently carried 
bundles, baskets, and burlap-bags around to the front door. 

At last they had fairly barricaded it, and the tallest of the 
party, after fastening a piece of paper in the Christmas 
wreath that Maria-Ann had hung up only a half-hour before, 
motioned to the others to step up to the kitchen window. 

Just one glimpse they had through the thickening frost 
and the wreathing green: a glimpse of the kitchen table, 
the steaming apples, the pot of red geranium, the two cups 
of smoking spearmint tea, and of two heads — the one 
white, the other brown — bent low over folded, toil-worn 
hands in the reverent attitude for the evening “ grace.” 

“ For what we are now about to receive, may the Lord 
make us truly thankful,” said Aunt Tryphosa, in a quaver¬ 
ing voice. 

“ Amen,” said Maria-Ann, heartily- “ Land sakes, 

grandmarm! how you scairt me, looking up so sudden! ” she 
exclaimed, almost in the same breath. 

“ Thought I heerd somethin’,” said the old dame, holding 
her head in a listening attitude — “ Hark! ” 

“ I don’t hear nothin’, grandmarm. Now, just eat your 


142 A Daughter of the Rich 

apples while they’re hot. What did you think you heard ? ” 
she continued, dishing the apples. 

“ I thought I heerd it when I was out in the shed, too.’’ 

“ I shouldn’t wonder if ’t was a deer. I saw one come 
into the clearing this afternoon, an’ seein’ ’t was Christmas 
evening, I put a good bundle of hay out to the south door of 
the cow-shed.” 

“ Guess ’t was that, then,” said Aunt Tryphosa. “ You 
clear up, Maria-Ann, an’ I’ll keep up a good fire, for I want 
to finish off them stockings for Ben Blossom an’ Chi. I 
s’pose you’ve got your things ready in case we see a team 
go by to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, they’re all ready,” said her granddaughter, rather 
absently, and set about washing the few dishes. 

When all was done, neatly and quickly as Maria-Ann so 
well knew how, she flung on her shawl, saying: 

“ I’m goin’ out a minute to see if the bundle of hay is 
gone, and besides, I want to look at the moon on the snow; 
it’s the first time I’ve seen it so this year.” She opened the 
door — 

“ Oh, Luddy! ” she screamed, as bundle, and basket, and 
bag toppled over into the room. 

“ Land sakes alive! ” quavered Aunt Tryphosa, hurrying 
to the rescue. “ Didn’t I tell you I heerd somethin’ ? 
What be they? ” 

“ Presents! ” cried Maria-Ann, pulling, and hauling, and 
gathering up, and finally getting the door shut. 

“ Seems to me I see somethin’ white catched onto the 
door ’fore you shut it,” said Aunt Tryphosa. “ Better 
look an’ see.” Again her granddaughter opened the door, 
and found the strip of paper on which was written; 

“ Merry Christmas! with best wishes of 

Benjamin and Mary Blossom and May, 


143 


A Daughter of the Rich 

Malachi Graham and Rose Eleanor Blossom 
March Blossom and Hazel Clyde, 

Benjamin Budd Blossom and Cherry Elizabeth Blossom of 
the N. B. B. O. O., and of 

John Curtis Clyde of New York; U. S. A.; N. A.; W. H.” 

“ Oh, grandmarm! It’s just like a romantic novel! ” 
cried Maria-Ann, who was as full of sentiment as an egg is 
full of yolk. “ It makes me feel kinder queer, cornin’ just 
now right after we was talkin’ ’bout our tree. You open 
first, an’ then we’ll take turns.” Aunt Tryphosa, who was 
winking very hard behind her spectacles, was not loath to 
begin. 

“ Let’s haul ’em up to the stove; it’s so awful cold,” she 
said, shivering. 

“ Why, you’ve let the fire go down; that’s the reason. 
Don’t you remember you was goin’ to put on the wood just 
as the things fell in ? ” 

“ So I was,” said her grandmother, making good her 
forgetfulness; in a few minutes there was a roaring fire, 
and the room was filled with a genial warmth. Then they 
sat down to their delightful task, Maria-Ann kneeling on 
the square rag carpet before the stove. 

“ My land!” cried Aunt Tryphosa, clapping her hands 
together as she opened the largest burlap bag; “if that 
boy ain’t stuffed this two-bushel bag chock full of birch 
bark! Look a-here, Maria-Ann, you read this slip of paper 
for me; my specs get so dim come night-time.” 

The truth was, the tears were running down Aunt Try- 
phosa’s wrinkled cheeks and filming her eyes to such an 
extent that she saw the birch bark through all the colors of 
the rainbow. 

“ ‘For Aunt Tryphosa from Budd Blossom to make her 
fires quick with cold mornings.’ Did you ever?” said 


144 ^ Daughter of the Rich 

Maria-Ann, untying another large burlap bundle — 
“ What’s this? ‘ Made by Rose Blossom and Hazel Clyde 
to keep Aunt Tryphosa snug and warm o’ nights when the 
mercury is below zero.’ O grandmarm, look at this! ” 

Maria-Ann unrolled a coverlet made of silk patch-work 
(bright bits and pieces that Hazel had begged of Aunt 
Carrie and Mrs. Heath and others of her New York friends) 
lined with thin flannel and filled with feathers. 

But Aunt Tryphosa was speechless for the first time in 
her life; and, seeing this, Maria-Ann took advantage of it 
to do a little talking on her own account. 

“ She don’t seem like a city girl in her ways; she ain’t a 
bit stuck up — Oh, what’s this! ” She poked, and fingered, 
and pinched, but failed to guess. Aunt Tryphosa grew 
impatient. 

“ Let me see, you’ve done nothin’ but feel,” she said, 
reaching for the package, and Maria-Ann handed it over to 
her. 

Again Mrs. Tryphosa Little was nearly dumb, as the mis¬ 
cellaneous contents of the queer, knobby parcel were brought 
to light. 

“ These are for you, Maria-Ann,” she said in an awed 
voice, laying them on the kitchen table one after the other: 
— A copy of the Woman’s Hearthstone Journal, with the 
receipt for a year’s subscription pinned to it; — A small 
shirt waist ironing-board; — A pair of fleece-lined Arctics, 
that buttoned half-way up Maria-Ann’s sturdy legs when, an 
hour later, she tried them on; — Six paper-covered novels 
of the Chimney Corner Library including Loma Doone 
(Hazel had discovered in her frequent visits, that Aunt 
Tryphosa’s granddaughter at twenty-nine was as romantic 
as a girl of seventeen); — A box of preserved ginger; — 
Two pounds of Old Hyson Tea; — (upon which Maria-Ann 


A Daughter of the Rich 145 

bounced up from the floor, and without more ado made 
two cups, much to her grandmother’s amazement) ; — Six 
pounds of lump sugar; — A dozen' lemons; — A dozen 
oranges; — A white Liberty-silk scarf tucked into an en¬ 
velope ; — Six ounces of scarlet knitting-wool; — All for 
“ Miss Maria-Ann Simmons, with Hazel Clyde’s best 
wishes.” 

Then it was Maria-Ann Simmons’ turn to break down 
and weep, at which Aunt Tryphosa fidgeted, for she had 
not seen her granddaughter cry since she was a little girl. 

“ Don’t act like a fool, Maria-Ann,” she said, crustily, to 
hide her own feelings; “ take your things an’ enjoy ’em. 
I’ve seen tears enough for night before Chris’mus,” she 
added, ignoring the fact that she had established a precedent. 

“ Well, I won’t, grandmarm,” said her granddaughter, 
laughing and crying at the same time; “ but I’m goin’ to 
have that cup of tea first to kind of strengthen me ’fore I 
open the rest,” she added decidedly. “ Besides, I don’t 
want to see everything at once; I want it to last.” 

“ I don’t mind if I have mine, too. Guess you may put 
in two lumps, seein’ as we didn’t have to pay for it,” and 
the old dame sipped her Hyson with supreme satisfaction, as 
did likewise her granddaughter. 

As the latter pushed back her chair from the table, her 
grandmother cautioned her: — “Look out! you’re settin’ 
it on another bag! ” But it was too late. To Aunt Try- 
phosa’s amazement and Maria-Ann’s horror, the bag sud¬ 
denly flopped up and down on the floor, the motion being 
accompanied with such an unearthly, “A — ee — eetsch — 
ok— a k — ache — eetsch!” that the two women’s faces 
grew pale, and they jumped as if they had been shot. 

Then Maria-Ann, with her hand on her thumping heart, 
burst into a shrill laugh, and Aunt Tryphosa quavered a 


146 A Daughter of the Rich 

thin accompaniment. How they laughed! till again the tears 
rolled down their cheeks. 

“ Scairt of hens! ” chuckled the old dame as she undid 
the strings of the bag — “at my time of life! Oh, my 
stars and garters, Maria-Ann! ain’t they beauties ? ” 

She drew out by the legs two snow-white Wyandotte 
pullets, and held them up admiringly. “ They’re from 
March, I know; but just to think of this, Maria-Ann!”' 
Again words and, curiously enough, eyes, too, failed her, 
and her granddaughter read the slip of paper tied around 
the leg of one of the hens:— “ ‘ One for Aunt Tryphosa, 
and one for Maria-Ann; have laid three times; last time day 
before yesterday; I hope they’ll lay two Christmas-morning 
eggs for your breakfast, March Blossom.’ ” 

“ I’m goin’ to put ’em on some hay in the clothes-basket, 
Maria-Ann, an’ keep ’em right under my bed where it’s 
good an’ warm,” said Aunt Tryphosa, decidedly. “ They’re 
kinder quality folks and can’t be turned in among common 
fowl. Besides, I ain’t got another hood, an’ if they should 
freeze their combs, I’d never forgive myself.” 

“ Well, I would, grandmarm,” said Maria-Ann, still 
laughing, as she untied the last two bundles. " Laws! ” 
she exclaimed, “ Here’s New York style for you.” She 
read the visiting card: 

“ To Mrs. Tryphosa Little, with the Season’s compli¬ 
ments from John Curtis Clyde. 4 East-th Street.” 

“ Well, I’m dumbfoundered,” sighed Mrs. Tryphosa Lit¬ 
tle, and more she could not say as she took out of the large 
pasteboard box, a white silk neckerchief, a cap of black net 
and lace with a “ chou ” of purple satin lute-string, a black 
fur collar and a muff to match, in all of which she proceeded 
to array herself with the utmost despatch, forgetful of the 
two hens, which, after wandering aimlessly about the 



A Daughter of the Rich 147 

kitchen, had roosted finally on the back of her wooden rock¬ 
ing-chair, where they balanced themselves with some diffi¬ 
culty. 

But suddenly, as she was thrusting her hands into the new 
muff, she paused, laid it down on the table, and said, rather 
querulously, “ Help me off with these things, Maria-Ann; 
I’m all tuckered out. I can stan’ a day’s washin’ as well 
as anybody, if I am eighty-one come next June, but I can’t 
stan’ no such night ’fore Chris’mus as this, an’ I’m goin to 
bed, an’ take the hens.” 

“ I would grandmarm,” said her granddaughter, gently, 
taking off the unwonted finery and kissing the wrinkled 
face. “ You go to bed; I put the soap-stone in two hours 
ago, so it’s nice and warm. I’ll clear up, an’ don’t you mind 
me — here, let me take one of those hens.” 

“ No, I can take care of hens anytime,” snapped Aunt 
Tryphosa, for she was tired out with happiness, “ but I can’t 
stan’ so many presents, an’ I’m too old to begin.” She dis¬ 
appeared in the bed-room, the two Wyandotte hens hanging 
limply, heads downward, from each hand. 

Maria-Ann picked up the paper and the wraps and made 
all tidy again in the kitchen. She put her hand on the last 
bag that was so heavy she had not moved it from the 
door. “ It’s a bag of cracked corn — hen-feed,” she said 
to herself, “ an it’s from Chi, I know as well as if I’d been 
told.” 

Then she sat down in the rocker before the stove and put 
her feet in the oven to warm. She blew out the light and 
sat awhile in silence, thinking happy thoughts. 

The fire crackled in the stove, and dancing lights, re¬ 
flected from the open grate, played on the wall. The moon 
shone full upon the frosted window panes, and the Christ- 


148 A Daughter of the Rich 

mas wreaths were set in masses of encrusted brilliants. The 
kettle began to sing, and so did Maria-Ann — but softly, for 
fear of waking Aunt Tryphosa: 

“ 1 My soul, be on thy guard; 

Ten thousand foes arise; 

The hosts of sin are pressing hard 
To draw thee from the skies/ ” 


XVII 


HUNGER-FORD 

Such a line of communication as was soon established 
between Mount Hunger and New York, Mount Hunger 
and Cambridge, the Lost Nation and Barton’s River, Hun¬ 
ger-ford— the Fords’ new name for the old Morris farm 
— and the Blossom homestead on the Mountain! 

Uncle Sam’s post, the Western Union Telegraph Com¬ 
pany, the American Express, a line of freight, saddle horses, 
sleds, and the old apple-green cart on runners were all 
pressed into service; in all the United States of America 
there were no busier young people than those belonging to 
the Lost Nation. 

They wrote notes to one another with an air of great 
mystery; they drove singly, in couples, or all together to 
Barton’s River with Chi; they smuggled in bundles and ex¬ 
press packages of all sorts and sizes; looked guilty if caught 
whispering together in the pantry; took many a sled-ride 
over to Hunger-ford, and audaciously remained there three 
hours at a time without giving Mrs. Blossom any good rea¬ 
son either for their going or remaining. 

The acquaintance formed between the Blossoms and the 
Fords just after Thanksgiving, was fast ripening into 
friendship. March, usually shy with strangers, fairly adored 
the tall, quiet son with the wonderful smile, and expanded 
at once in his genial presence. With Ruth Ford he had 
much in common; and regularly once a week since Thanks- 


150 A Daughter of the Rich 

giving he had drawn and painted with her in her studio, the 
room that Aunt Tryphosa had so graphically described. His 
gift was far more in that direction than hers; and Ruth, rec¬ 
ognizing it, encouraged him, spurred his ambition, and 
placed all her materials at his disposal. 

Rose’s sweet voice had proved a delight to them all, and 
Hazel’s violin was being taught to play a gentle accompani¬ 
ment to Alan Ford’s, that sang, or wept, or rejoiced ac¬ 
cording to the player’s mood. 

“ I am so thankful Ben, that our Rose can have the ad¬ 
vantage of such companions just at this time of her life,” 
said Mrs. Blossom, on the afternoon before Christmas when 
the two eldest, with Hazel, had gone over to Hunger-ford 
with joyful secrets written all over their happy faces. 

“ So am I, Mary. When I see young men like Ford, I 
realize what I lost in being obliged to give up college on 
father’s account,” said Mr. Blossom, with a sigh. 

“ I do, too, Ben; and what I’ve lost in opportunity when 
I see that gifted woman, Mrs. Ford. She has travelled ex¬ 
tensively, she reads and speaks both German and French, 
she is a really wonderful musician, and keeps up with every 
interest of the day, besides being a splendid housekeeper and 
devoted to her children.”* 

“ Do you regret it, Mary?” said her husband, looking 
straight before him into the fire. 

“ Not with you, Ben,” was Mary Blossom’s answer. Tak¬ 
ing her husband’s face in both her hands and turning it 
towards her, she looked into his eyes, and received the smile 
and kiss that were always ready for her. 

“ If we didn’t have all this when we were young people, 
Mary, we’ll hope that we may have it in our children,” he 
said, earnestly. 


A Daughter of the Rich 151 

Just then Chi came in, and gave a loud preliminary, 
“ Hem! ” for to him, Ben and Mary Blossom would always 
be lovers. “ Guess ’t is ’bout time to hitch up, if you’re 
goin’ clear down to Barton’s to meet the train, Ben; I’ve 
got to go over eastwards with the children.” 

“ All right, Chi, I’d rather drive down to the station to¬ 
night; it’s good sleighing and our Mountain is a fine sight 
by moonlight.” 

“ Can’t be beat,” said Chi, emphatically. “ S’pose you’ll 
be back by seven, sharp? I kind of want to time myself, on 
account of the s’prise.” 

“ We’ll say seven, and I’ll make it earlier if I can. You’re 
off for Aunt Tryphosa’s now? ” 

“ Just finished loadin’ up — There they are! ” and in 
rushed the whole troop, hooded and mittened and jacketed 
and leggined, ready for their after-sunset raid. 

“ Good-bye, Mar.tie! ” screamed Cherry, wild with ex¬ 
citement, and made a dash for the door; then she turned 
back with another dash that nearly upset May, and, throw¬ 
ing her arms around her mother’s neck, nearly squeezed the 
breath from her body. “ O Mumpsey, Dumpsey, dear! I’m 
having such an awfully good time; it’s so much happier than 
last Christmas! ” 

“ And, O Popsey, Dopsey, dear! ” laughed Rose, mimick¬ 
ing her, but with a voice full of love, and both mittens 
caressing his face, “ it’s so good to have you well enough to 
celebrate this year! ” 

Hazel slipped her hand into Chi’s, and whispered, “ Oh, 
Chi, I wish I had a lot of brothers and sisters like Rose. 
Anyway, papa’s coming to-night, so I’ll have one of my 
own,” she added proudly. 

“ Guess we’d better be getting’ along,” said Chi, still hold- 


1^2 A Daughter of the Rich 

ing Hazel’s hand. “ It’s goin’ to be a stinger, V it’s a mile 
’n’ a half over there.” 

“ Come on all! ” cried March; “ we’ll be back before you 
are, father.” 

“ We’ll see about that,” laughed his father, as he caught 
the merry twinkle in his wife’s eye. 

But March was right by the margin of only a minute or 
two; for just as the merry crowd entered the house on their 
return from their errand of “ goodwill,” they heard Mr. 
Blossom drive the sleigh into the barn. In another moment 
Hazel had flung wide the door and was caught up into her 
father’s arms. 

In the midst of their cordial greetings there was a loud 
knock at the door. They all started at the sound, and Budd, 
who was nearest, opened it. 

“ Please, Budd, may I come in, too ?” said a voice every¬ 
one recognized as the Doctor’s. 

Then the whole Blossom household lost their heads where 
they had lost their hearts the year before. Rose and Hazel 
and Cherry fairly smothered him with kisses; Budd wrung 
one hand, March gripped another; May clung to one leg, and 
the monster of a puppy contrived to get under foot, although 
he stood two feet ten. 

Jack Sherrill, looking in at the window upon all this lov¬ 
ing hominess, felt, somehow, physically and spiritually left 
out in the cold. “ What a fool I was to come! ” he said to 
himself. Nevertheless he carried out his part of the pro¬ 
gram by stepping up to the door and knocking. This time 
Mrs. Blossom opened it. 

“ Have you room for one more, Mrs. Blossom? ” he said 
with an attempt at a smile, but looking sadly wistful, so 
wistful and lonely that Mary Blossom put out both hands 
without a word, and, somehow, — Jack, in thinking it over 


A Daughter of the Rich 153 

afterwards, never could tell how it happened so naturally — 
he was giving her a son’s greeting, and receiving a mother’s 
kiss in return. 

In a moment Hazel’s arms were around his neck; — “ Oh, 
Jack, Jack! I’ve got three of my own now; I’m almost as 
rich as Rose! ” 

Rose, hearing her name, came forward with frank, cordial 
greeting, and May transferred her demonstrations of affec¬ 
tion from the Doctor’s trousers to Jack’s; Cherry’s curls 
bobbed and quivered with excitement when Jack claimed a 
kiss from “ Little Sunbonnet,” and received two hearty 
smacks in return; March took his travelling bag; Budd kept 
close beside him, and the puppy, who had been christened 
Tell, nosed his hand, and, sitting down on his haunches, pawed 
the air frantically until Jack shook hands with him, too. 

By this time the wistful look had disappeared from Jack’s 
eyes, and his handsome face was filled with such a glad light 
that the Doctor noticed it at once. He shook his head 
dubiously, with his eyebrows drawn together in a straight 
line over the bridge of his nose, and, from underneath, his 
keen eyes glanced from Jack to Rose and from Rose back 
again to Jack. Then his face cleared, and explanations were 
in order. 

“ Why, you see,” the Doctor said to Mrs. Blossom, “ my 
wife had to go South with her sister, and could not be at 
home for Christmas — the first we’ve missed celebrating to¬ 
gether since we were married — and when I found John 
was coming up to spend it with you, I couldn’t resist giving 
myself this one good time. But Jack here has failed to give 
any satisfactory account of how or why he came to intrude 
his long person just at this festive time. I thought you 
were off at a Lenox house-party with the Seatons? ” he said, 
quizzically. 


154 A Daughter of the Rich 

Jack laughed good-naturedly. “ I don’t blame you for 
wondering at my being here; but I’ve been here before,” he 
said, willing to pay back the Doctor in his own coin. 

“ The deuce you have! ” exclaimed the Doctor. “ I say, 
Johnny, are we growing old that these young people get 
ahead of us so easily? ” 

“ I don’t know how you feel, Dick, but I’m as young as 
Jack to-night.” 

“ That’s right, Papa Clyde,” said Hazel, approvingly, 
softly patting her father on the head; “and, Jack, you’re a 
dear to come up here to see us, for you’ve just as much right 
as the Doctor.” 

The Doctor pretended to grumble: — “ Come to see you, 
indeed, you superior young woman — you indeed! As if 
there weren’t any other girls in the world or on Mount 
Hunger but you and Rose —• much you know about it.” 

“ Well, I’d like to know who you came to see, if not us? ” 
laughed Hazel, sure of her ultimate triumph. 

“ Why, my dear Ruth Ford, to be sure.” 

“ Ruth Ford! ” they exclaimed in amazement. 

“ Why not Ruth Ford? You didn’t suppose I would 
come away up here into the wilds of Vermont in the dead of 
winter, did you? just to see — ” But Hazel laid her hand 
on his mouth. 

“ Stop teasing, do,” she pleaded, “ and tell us how you 
knew our Ruth.” 

“Our Ruth! Ye men of York, hear her!” said the 
Doctor, appealing to Mr. Clyde and Jack. “ The next thing 
will be ‘ our Alan Ford,’ I suppose. How will you like that, 
Jack?” 

“ I feel like saying f confound him,’ only it wouldn’t be 
polite. You see, Doctor, I thought I had preempted the 
whole Mountain, and was prepared to make a conquest of 


A Daughter of the Rich 155 

Miss Maria-Ann Simmons even; but if Mr. Ford has 
stepped in ” — Jack assumed a tragic air —■ “ there is noth¬ 
ing left for me in honor, but to throw down the gauntlet 
and challenge him to single combat — hockey-sticks and hot 
lemonade— for her fair hand.” 

At the mention of Maria-Ann, Rose and Hazel, Budd and 
Cherry and March went off into fits of laughter. They 
laughed so immoderately that it proved infectious for their 
elders, and when Chi entered the room Budd cried out, “ Oh, 
Chi, you tell about the — we can’t — the rooster and the 
hoods, and — Oh my eye! — ” Budd was apparently on the 
verge of convulsions. 

“I stuffed snow into my mouth and made my teeth ache 
so as not to laugh out loud,” said Cherry; at which there 
was another shout, and still another outburst at the table 
when Chi described the scene in the hen-house. 

“ Now, children,” said Mrs. Blossom, after the some¬ 
what hilarious evening meal was over, the table cleared, the 
dishes were wiped and put away, “ we’re going to do just 
for this once as you want us to — hang up our stockings; 
but I want all of you to hang up yours, too. If you don’t, I 
shall miss the sixes and sevens and eights so, that it will 
spoil my Christmas.” 

“ We will, Martie,” they assented, joyfully; for, as March 
said, it would not seem like night before Christmas if they 
did not hang up their stockings. 

“ Yes, and papa, and you,” said Hazel, turning to the 
Doctor, “ must hang up yours, and you, too, Jack.” 

“ Why, of course,” said Mrs. Blossom, “ everybody is to 
hang up a stocking to-night, even Tell.” 

“ Oh, Martie, how funny! ” cried Cherry, “ but he hasn’t 
a truly stocking.” 


156 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ No, but one of Budd’s will do for his huge paw — won’t 
it, old fellow ? ” she said, patting his great head. 

Then Budd must needs bring out a pair of his pedal cov¬ 
erings and try one brown woolen one on Tell, much to his 
majesty’s surprise; for Tell was a most dignified youth of 
a dog, as became his nine months and his famous breed. 

Early in the evening the stockings were hung up over the 
fireplace, all sizes and all colors: — May’s little red one and 
Chi’s coarse blue one; Mr. Clyde’s of thick silk, and Budd’s 
and Tell’s of woollen; Hazel’s of black cashmere beside 
Jack’s striped Balbriggan. What an array. 

Then Mrs. Blossom and May went off into the bedroom, 
and Mr. Blossom and his guests were forced to smoke their 
after-tea cigars in the guest bedroom upstairs, while the 
young people brought out their treasures and stuffed the 
grown-up stockings till they were painfully distorted. 

“ Don’t they look lovely! ” whispered Hazel, ecstatically 
to March, who begged Rose to get another of their mother’s 
stockings, for the one proved insufficient for the fascinating 
little packages that were labelled for her. 

“ Let’s go right to bed now,” suggested Budd, “ then 
mother’ll fill ours — Oh, I forgot,” he added, ruefully, “ we 
aren’t going to have presents this year — ” 

“ Why, yes, we are, too, Budd,” said Rose, “ we’re going 
to give one another out of our own money.” 

“ Cracky! I forgot all about that —” Budd tore up¬ 
stairs in the dark, and tore down again and into the bed¬ 
room, crying: — “ Now all shut your eyes while I’m going 
through! ” which they did most conscientiously. 

Soon, they, too, were invited laughingly to retire, and by 
half-past ten the house was quiet. 


A Daughter of the Rich 157 

“ ’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the 

HOUSE, 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;” 

Stretched out on the hearth-rug lay Tell snoring loudly, 

And above from the mantel the stockings hung proudly; 

When down from the stairway there came such a patter 
Of stockingless feet — ’twas no laughing matter! 

As the good Doctor thought, for he sprang out of bed 
To see if ’twere real, or a dream in its stead. 

But no! with his eye at a crack of the door 
He discovered the truth — ’twas the Blossoms, all four, 

With Hazel to aid them, tiptoeing about 
Like a party of ghosts grown a little too stout. 

They pinched and they fingered; they poked and they squeezed 
Each plump Christmas stocking — then somebody sneezed! 
Consternation and terror!! The tall clock struck one 
As the ghosts disappeared on the double-quick run! 

“’Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the 
house, 

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;” 

Without in the moonlight, the snow sparkled bright; 

The Mountain stood wrapped in a mantle of white. 

With a crown of dark firs on his noble old crest 
And ermine and diamonds adorning his breast; 

And the stars that above him swung true into line 
Once shone o’er a manger in far Palestine. 

What a Christmas morning that was! 

Chi was up at five o’clock, building roaring fires, for it 
was ten degrees below zero. 

With the first glint of the sun on the frosted panes the 
household was astir. At precisely seven the order was 
given to take down the thirteen stockings. But bless you! 
You’re not to think the stockings could hold all the gifts. 
In front of each wide jamb were piled the bundles and pack¬ 
ages, three feet high. 

Rose hesitated a moment when the children sat down on 
the rug with their stockings, as was their custom every 
Christmas morn; then she plumped down among them, say- 
ing, laughingly: 


158 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ I don’t care if I am growing up, Martie — it’s Christ¬ 
mas.” 

Upon which Jack, hugging his striped Balbriggan, sat 
down beside her. 

Such “ Ohs ” and “ Ahs ” ! Such thankings and squeez¬ 
ings ! Such somersaults as were turned by March and Budd 
at the kitchen end of the long-room! Such rapturous gur¬ 
gles from May! Such hand-shakes and kisses! Such silent 
bliss on the part of Chi, who, though suffering as if in a 
Turkish bath, had donned his new, blue woollen sweater, 
drawn on his gauntleted beaver gloves, and proceeded to in¬ 
vestigate his stocking with the air of a man who has noth¬ 
ing more to wish for. And through all the chaotic hap¬ 
piness a sentence could be distinguished now and then. 

“ Chi, these corn-cob pipes are just what I shall want 
after Christmas when I give my Junior Smoker.” 

“ Oh, Martie, it can’t be for me! ” as the lovely white 
serge dress, ready made and trimmed with lace, was held up 
to Rose’s admiring eyes. 

Budd was caressing with approving fingers a regular 
“ base-ball-nine ” bat and admiring the white leather balls. 

“ I say, it’s a stunner, Mr. Sherrill; but how did you know 
I wanted it ? ” 

Mr. Clyde, who was touched to his very heart’s core by 
Hazel’s gift of a dollar pair of suspenders which she had 
earned by her own labor, felt a small hand slipped into his, 
and found Cherry Bounce looking up at him with wide, 
adoring, brown eyes, which, for the first time, she had taken 
from her beautiful fimilie Angelique, whom she held pressed 
to her heart: — 

“ I want to whisper to you,” she said, shyly. Mr. Clyde 
bent down to her; — “ After I said my prayers to Martie, I 
asked God to give me £milie Angelique — every night,” 


A Daughter of the Rich 159 

she nodded — “ but I only told Budd, so how did you 
know?” 

March was lost to the world in his volume of foreign pho¬ 
tographs, in his boxes of paints and brushes, and a whole 
set of drawing materials. He had not as yet thanked Hazel 
for them. 

Everybody was happy and satisfied. Everybody said he 
or she had received just exactly the thing. Tell alone could 
not express his gratification in words. He had been given 
his woollen stocking, and nosed about till he had brought 
forth three fat dog-biscuits, a deliciously juicy-greasy beef 
bone, wrapped in white waxed paper and tied at one end with 
a blue ribbon, a fine nickelplated dog collar with a bell at¬ 
tached, and last, from the brown woollen toe, three lumps of 
sugar. 

One by one he took the gifts and laid them down at Mrs. 
Blossom’s feet; putting one huge paw firmly on the waxed- 
paper package, he waved the other wildly until she took it 
and spoke a loving word to him. Then, taking up his be¬ 
loved bane, he retired with it to the farthest end of the 
long-room, under the kitchen sink, and licked it in peace and 

joy- 

jack and Chi in the joyful confusion had slipped from the 
room. 

Soon there was a commotion in the woodshed, and the 
two made their appearance dragging after them a brand-new 
double-runner and a real Canadian toboggan, which Jack 
had ordered from Montreal for March. 

Breakfast proved to be a short meal, for the whole family 
was wild to try the new toboggan with Jack to engineer 
it. Then it was up and down — down and up the steep 
mountain road; Jack and Doctor Heath, Mr. Clyde, Mr. 
Blossom and Chi, all on together — clinging for dear life, 


160 A Daughter of the Rich 

laughing, whooping, panting, hurrahing like boys let out 
from school, while March and Budd and Rose and Hazel 
and Cherry flew after them on the double-runner, the keen 
air biting rose-red cheeks, and bringing the stinging water 
to the eyes. 

But what sport it was! 

“ Now, this is something like/* panted Jack, drawing up 
the hill with Chi, his handsome face aglow with life and 
joy. 

“ By George Washin’ton! it’s the nearest thing to shootin’ 
Niagary that I ever come,” puffed Chi. 

“Didn’t we take that water-bar neatly?” laughed Jack. 

“ ’N inch higher, ’n’ we’d all been goners; — I hadn’t a 
minute to think of it, goin’ to the rate of a mile a minute; 
but if I had — I’d have dusted! Guess I’ll make it level 
before I try it with the children, — ’n’ I want you to know 
there’s no coward about me, but I’m just speakin’ six for 
myself this time.” 

So the morning sped. Even Mrs. Blossom and May were 
taken down once, and the Doctor stopped only because he 
wanted to make a morning call on his patient, Ruth Ford; 
for it was by his advice the family had come to live for 
three years in this mountain region. 

The horn for the mid-day meal sounded down the Moun¬ 
tain before they had thought of finishing the exciting sport, 
and one and all brought such keen appetites to the Christmas 
dinner, that Mrs. Blossom declared laughingly that she 
would give them no supper, for they had eaten the pantry 
shelves bare. 

Such roast goose and barberry jam! Such a noble plum¬ 
pudding set in the midst of Maria-Ann’s best wreath, for 
she and Aunt Tryphosa had sent over their simple gifts by 
an early teamster. Such red Northern Spies and winter 



Then it was up and down—doivn and up the steep 
mountain road . Page 160. 






































































































































































































A Daughter of the Rich 161 

russet pears! And such mirth and shouts and jests and 
quips to accompany each course! 

It was genuine New England Christmas cheer, and the 
healths were drunk in the wine of the apple amid great ap¬ 
plause, especially Doctor Heath’s: 

“ Health, peace and long life to the Lost Nation — May 
its tribe increase! ” 

And how they laughed at Chi, when he proposed the 
health of the Prize Chicken (which, by the way, he had kept 
for the next season’s mascot,) and recounted the episode in 
the barn. 

What shouts greeted Budd, who, rising with great gravity, 
his mouth puckered into real, not mock, seriousness — and 
that was the comical part of it all — said earnestly: 

“ To my first wife! ” and sat down rather red, but grati¬ 
fied not only by the prolonged applause, but by the enthu¬ 
siasm with which they drank to this unexpected toast from 
his unsentimental self. 

Directly after dinner Mr. Clyde declared that a seven-mile 
walk was an actual necessity for him in his present condi¬ 
tion, and invited all who would to accompany him to call in 
state on Mrs. Tryphosa Little and Miss Maria-Ann Sim¬ 
mons. Only Doctor Heath and Jack went with him, for Mr. 
Blossom and Chi had matters to attend to at home, and Rose 
and Cherry and Hazel were needed to help Mrs. Blossom. 
Even March and Budd turned to and wiped dishes. 

“ I’ll set the table now, Martie,” said Rose, “ then there 
will be no confusion to-night — there are so many of us.” 

“ No need for that to-night, children,” replied Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, with a merry smile. “ The last is the best of all the 
rest,’ for we were all invited a week ago to take tea and 
spend Christmas evening at Hunger-ford.” 

“ Oh, Martie! ” A joyful shout went up from the six, 


162 A Daughter of the Rich 

that was followed by jigs and double-shuffles, pas-seuls and 
fancy-steps, in which dish-towels were waved wildly, and 
tin pans were pounded instead of wiped. 

When the din had somewhat subsided there were num¬ 
berless questions asked; by the time they were all answered, 
and Rose and Hazel had donned their white serge dresses, 
the gentlemen had returned from their walk, and it was 
time to go. 

“ That’s why Mrs. Ford had us learn all those songs,” 
said Rose to Hazel. “ Don’t forget to take your violin.” 

A merrier Christmas party never set forth on a straw- 
ride. Mr. and Mrs. Blossom and May went over in the 
sleigh, but the rest piled into the apple-green pung, and 
when they came in sight of the seven-gabled-house, a rous¬ 
ing three times three, mingled with the sound of the sleigh- 
bells, greeted the pretty sight. 

Every window was illumined, and adorned with a Christ¬ 
mas wreath. In the light of the rising moon, then at the 
full, the snow that covered the roof sparkled like frosted 
silver. The house, with its background of sharply sloping 
hill wooded with spruce and pine, its twinkling lights and 
the surrounding white expanse, looked like an illuminated 
Christmas card. 

Within, the hall was festooned with ground hemlock and 
holly; a roaring fire of hickory logs furnished light and to 
spare. In the living-room and dining room, Mr. Clyde and 
Jack Sherrill found, to their amazement, all the elegance 
and refinement of a city home combined with country 
simplicity. The tea-table shone with the service of silver 
and sparkled with the many-faceted crystal of glass and 
carafe. For decoration, the rich red of the holly berries 
glanced among the dark green gloss of their leaves. At 
first, the younger members of the Blossom family felt con- 


A Daughter of the Rich 163 

strained and a little awed in such surroundings; for although 
they had been several times in the house, they had never 
taken tea there. But the Fords and the other city people 
soon put them at their ease, and, as Cherry declared after¬ 
wards, “ It was like eating in a fairy story/’ There was a 
real pigeon pie at one end and a Virginia ham at the other, 
as well as cold, roast duck with gooseberry jam. There were 
sparkling jellies, and the whole family of tea-cakes — 
orange, cocoanut, sponge, and chocolate; and, oh, bliss! — 
strawberry ice-cream in a nest of spun cinnamon candy, fol¬ 
lowed by Malaga grapes and hot chocolate topped with a 
whip of cream. 

After tea there was the surprise of a beautiful Christmas 
tree in the library. Ruth Ford had occupied many a weary 
hour in making the decorations — roses and lilies fashioned 
from tissue paper to closely copy nature; gilded walnuts; 
painted paper butterflies; pink sugar hearts, and cornucopias 
of gilt and silver paper, in each of which was a bunch of 
real flowers — roses, violets, carnations, and daisies, ordered 
by Jack Sherrill from New York. On the topmost branch, 
there was a waxen Christ-child. The tree was lighted by 
dozens of tiny colored candles. When the door was opened 
from the living-room, and the children caught sight of the 
wonderful tree, they held their breath and whispered to one 
another. 

But more lovely than the tree in the eyes of the older 
people were the radiant faces of the young people and the 
children. Rose, with clasped hands, stood gazing up at the 
Christ-child that crowned the glowing, glittering masses of 
dark green. She was wholly unconscious of the many pairs 
of eyes that rested upon her in love and admiration. There 
was nothing so beautiful in the whole room as the young 
girl standing there with earnest blue eyes, raised reverently 


164 A Daughter of the Rich 

to the little waxen figure. Her lips were parted in a half 
smile; a flush of excitement was on her cheeks; the white 
dress set off the exquisite fairness of her skin; the shining 
crown of golden-brown hair, that hung in a heavy braid to 
within a foot of the hem of her gown, caught the soft lights 
above and formed almost a halo about the face. 

Suddenly there was a burst of admiration from the chil¬ 
dren, and, under cover of it, Doctor Heath turned to Mr. 
Clyde, who was standing beside him: — 

“By heavens, John! That girl is too beautiful; she will 
make some hearts ache before she is many years older, as 
well as your own Hazel — look at her now! ” 

The father’s eyes rested lovingly, but thoughtfully, on the 
graceful little figure that was busy distributing the cornuco¬ 
pias with their fragrant contents. Yes, she, too, was beau¬ 
tiful, giving promise of still greater beauty. He turned to 
the Doctor and held out his hand: — 

“ Richard, I have to thank you for this transformation.” 
“ No — not me,” said the Doctor, earnestly, “ but,” point¬ 
ing to Mrs. Blossom, “ that woman there, John. Hazel 
needed the mother-love, just as much as Jack does at this 
moment.” 

Jack had turned away when the Doctor began to speak of 
Rose, and, joining her, said, “ Won’t you wear one of my 
roses just to-night, Miss Blossom? ” 

“ Your roses! Why, did you give us all those lovely 
flowers? ” 

“ Yes, I wanted to contribute my share, and flowers 
seemed the most appropriate offering just for to-night.” 

“ They’re lovely,” said Rose, caressing the exquisite petals 
of a La France beauty. “Of course I’ll wear one—” she 
tucked one into her belt; “ but why — why! — hasn’t any¬ 
one else roses? ” She looked about inquiringly. 


A Daughter of the Rich 165 

“ No, — the roses were for their namesake,” said Jack, 
quietly. 

Rose laughed merrily, — a pleased, girlish laugh. “ Then 
won’t the giver of the roses call their namesake, ‘ Rose ’ ? — 
for the sake of the roses? ” she added mischievously. 

Now Jack Sherrill had seen many girls — silly girls, 
flirty girls, sensible girls, charming girls, smart girls, nice 
girls, and horrid girls, and flattered himself he knew every 
species of the genus, but just this once he was puzzled. If 
Rose Blossom had been an arrant flirt, she could not have 
answered him more effectively; yet Jack had decided that she 
had too earnest a nature to descend to flirting. Somehow, 
that word could never be applied to Rose Blossom —■ “ My 
Rose,” he said to himself, and knew with a kind of a shock 
when he said it, that he was very far gone. But in the next 
breath, he had to confess to himself that he had “ been very 
far gone ” many a time in his twenty-one years, so perhaps 
it did not signify. 

Indeed, in the next minute, he was sure it did not signify, 
for, before he could gather his wits sufficiently to reply to 
her, Rose had slipped away to the other side of the room, 
where she was busying herself in fastening one of Jack’s 
roses into the buttonhole of Alan Ford’s Tuxedo. In con¬ 
sequence of which, Jack turned his batteries upon Ruth Ford 
with such effect, that she declared afterwards to her mother 
he was one of the most fascinating young men — for Ruth 
was twenty-one! — she had ever met. 

Mrs. Ford and Hazel and Mr. Ford had done their best 
to persuade Chi to remain with them for the tree. Even 
Rose urged — but in vain. True, the girls had insisted upon 
his taking one look, then he had begged off, saying, as he 
patted Hazel’s hand that lay on his arm: 

“ Not to-night, Lady-bird. I don’t feel to home in there. 


166 A Daughter of the Rich 

I’ll sit out here and hear the music, then I can beat time with 
my foot if I want to.” He remained in the hall, just out¬ 
side the living-room door, enjoying all he heard. 

First there was a lovely piano duet, an Hungarian waltz 
by Brahms, Mrs. Ford and the grave, quiet son playing with 
such a perfect understanding of each other, as well as of the 
music, that it proved a delight to all present. Then there 
was a carol by all the children, Rose leading, and Mrs. Ford 
playing the accompaniment: 

“ ‘ Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter! 

Laugh, while with yule-wreath thy temples are bound; 

Drain the spiced bowl now, cheer thy old soul now, 

“ Christmas waes hael!” pledge the holy toast round. 

Broach butt and barrel, with dance and with carol 
Crown we old Winter of revels the king; 

And when he is weary of living so merry, 

He’ll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring. 

Cheery old Winter! merry old Winter! 

He’ll lie down and die on the green lap of Spring! ’ ” 

This won great applause, and a loud thumping could be 
heard in the hall. Jack went out to try his powers of per- 
sausion with Chi, and found him sitting close to the door 
with one knee over the other and a La France rose (!) in 
his buttonhole. 

“ Come in, Chi, do.” 

“ Ruther’d sit here.” 

“ Oh, come on.” 

“ Nope.” 

Jack laughed at the decided tone. “ Where did you get 
this ? ” he asked, touching the boutonniere. 

“ Rose-pose,” answered Chi, laconically, but with a happy 
smile. 

“ Out of her bunch? ” 

“ Nope — took it out of her belt,” said Chi, with a curi¬ 
ous twist of his mouth. 


167 


A Daughter of the Rich 

Jack went back crestfallen, and Chi smiled. 

“ I’m afraid I cut him out, just for once; kind of rough 
on him, but’t won’t hurt him any to have a change. He’s 
had his own way a little too much,” said Chi to himself. 

Again there was music, a Schubert serenade, with the 
two violins, and after that, the children begged Hazel to 
dance the Highland Fling as she did once in the barn. 
Hazel, nothing loath, borrowed a blue Liberty-silk scarf 
from Ruth Ford; the rugs being removed and Alan Ford 
tuning his violin, she made her curtsy, and, entering heart 
and body into the spirit of the thing, danced like thistle¬ 
down shod with joyousness. 

It was a pretty sight! and Chi edged into the room, while 
the company made believe ignore him in order to induce him 
to remain there; but when the singing began, he slipped out 
again. Such singing! Everybody joined in it. They sang 
everything; — “ Oh, where, tell me where, is your High¬ 
land laddie gone?”; — “Star-Spangled Banner”; — 
“ Marching Along ” ; — “ John Anderson, my Jo ” ; — 
“ Ye banks and braes o’ Bonnie Doon ”; —“ Twinkle, 
twinkle, little star ”; — “ Annie Laurie ”; — “A grass¬ 
hopper sat on a sweet-potato vine ”; — “ Ben Bolt ”; — 
“ Fair Harvard ” and, finally, “ Old Hundred.” 

It had been arranged that Mr. Bossom should take his 
wife and the younger children home in the pung; the rest 
were to walk. Chi, meanwhile, had driven home in the 
single sleigh. 

On the walk home Jack tried what he had been apt to 
term — of course, to himself — his “ confidential scheme ” 
with Rose. He had tried to before with many another, and 
it had never failed to work. The thought of one of his 
roses in Alan Ford’s buttonhole still rankled, and the best 


168 A Daughter of the Rich 

side of Jack’s manhood was not on the surface when he 
entered upon the homeward walk. 

“ Miss Blossom,” — somehow Jack had not quite the 
courage to say “ Rose,” although he had been so frankly in¬ 
vited to — “ I want to tell you why I came up here; it must 
have seemed almost an intrusion.” 

“ Oh, no, indeed,” said Rose, earnestly, “ and I know why 
you came; Hazel told me.” 

“ Oh, she did,” said Jack, rather inanely, and a little un¬ 
certain as to his footing, figuratively speaking; for he had 
given her the chance to ask “Why?” — and she hadn’t 
taken it; in which she proved herself different from all those 
other girls of his acquaintance. To himself he thought, 
“ Well, for all the cordial indifference, commend me to this 
girl.” 

“ Yes, I’m sure it would have seemed like anything but 
Christmas to you in New York with your father in Europe; 
you must miss him so.” 

Jack felt himself blush in the moonlight at the remem¬ 
brance that he had seen his father but little in the last three 
years, and did not know what it was in reality to miss him. 
He never remembered to have missed anything or anybody 
but his mother, and that indefinite something in his life 
which he had not yet put himself earnestly to seek. 

“ I suppose you’ll be shocked, Miss Blossom, but I don’t 
really miss my father. I’m only awfully glad to see him 
when I get the chance — which isn’t often. He’s such a 
busy man with railroads and syndicates and real estate inter¬ 
ests. I wonder often how he can find time to write me even 
twice a month, which he has done regularly ever since — ” 
he stopped abruptly. 

“ Since what? ” asked Rose, innocently. 


A Daughter of the Rich 169 

“ Since my mother died,” said Jack, in a hard, dry voice 
that served to cover his feeling. 

“ Yes,” Rose nodded sympathetically, “ Hazel told me.” 
Then — for Rose’s love for her own mother was something 
bordering on adoration — she said softly, under her breath, 
but with her whole heart in her voice; “Oh, I don’t see how 
you could bear it — how you can live without her! ” 

“ I don’t,” Jack replied with a break in his voice, “ not 
really live, you know. I’ve always felt it, but never realized 
it until last night, when I stood out on the veranda and 
looked in at the window at you — all. Then I knew I’d been 
hungry for that sort of thing for the last seven years — ” 

Now Rose’s heart was swelling with pity for the loneliness 
of the tall, young fellow swinging along beside her, and at 
once her inner eyes were opened to see a, to her, startling 
fact. She turned suddenly towards him. 

“ Is that why you kissed Martie last night, and came up 
here to us ? ” she demanded rather breathlessly. 

“ Yes ”; Jack had forgotten his scheme, and was in dead 
earnest now. 

“ Then,” cried Rose, impulsively — but at the same time 
thinking, “ I don’t care if he is engaged to that Miss Sea¬ 
ton ” — “I hope you’ll come to us whenever you feel like it; 
for,” she added earnestly, “ I’m beginning to understand 
what Chi means when he talks about Hazel’s being poor and 
our being rich, and — and I’d love to share mine with you.” 

“ You’re awfully good,” said Jack, rather awkwardly for 
him; for, suddenly, in the presence of this young girl, as yet 
unspoiled by the world, he realized that Life was dependent 
upon something other than polo and club theatricals, rail¬ 
road syndicates and Newport casinos, stocks and bonds and 
marketable real estate. 


170 A Daughter of the Rich 

Jack was young, and the moonlight was transfiguring the 
face that, framed in a white, knitted hood, was turned to¬ 
wards him full of a frank, loving sympathy for him in his 
“poverty.” — And, seeing it, Jack suddenly braced himself 
as if to meet some shock, thinking, as he strode along in 
silence, “ Oh, I’m gone! — for good and all this time.” 

Rose, a little surprised at the prolonged silence, welcomed 
the sound of sleigh-bells behind them. 

“ Why, that’s Chi! ” she exclaimed. “ I thought he was 
at home long before this. I’m sure he left long before we 
did. Where have you been, Chi ? ” she called so soon as the 
sleigh was within hailing distance. 

“ I’ve been Chris-musin’,” said Chi. “ It ain’t often you 
get just such a night on the Mountain as this, and I’ve made 
the most of it. Can I give you a lift? ” 

“ No, thank you, Chi, we’re almost home,” said Rose. 

“ Well, then I’d better be gettin’ along — it’s pretty near 
midnight — chk, Bob — ” And Chi drove away down the 
Mountain, chuckling to himself: 

“ Ain’t a-goin’ to give myself away before no city chap 
that has cut me out as he has. George Washin’ton! When 
I peeked into the window ’n’ saw Marier-Ann sittin’ there 
in front of that kitchen table with all those presents on it, 
’n’ the little spruce set up so perky in the middle of ’em, ’n’ 
she a-wearin’ a great handful of those red, spice pinks in her 
bosom, ’n’ her cheeks to match ’em, ’n’ her eyes a-shinin’ —- 
I knew he'd come it over me; he’d made the first call, ’n’ 
given her the first posies. Guess I won’t crow over him 
after this.” Chi undid his greatcoat, and bent his face until 
his nose rested upon Jack’s rose: — 

“ It ain’t touched yet, but it’s a stinger; must be twenty 
below, now.” Suddenly Chi gave a loud exclamation: “ I 


A Daughter of the Rich iji 

must be a fool! — I’ve broken one of the N. B. B. O. O. 
rules not to be afraid of anything, and didn’t dare to give my 
posy to Marier-Ann! — Anyhow, she don’t know I was 
goin’ to give it to her, so I needn’t feel so cheap about it — 
Go-long, Bob 1 ” 


XVIII 


budd’s proposal 

Before Mr. Clyde and Jack left the next day, Budd 
sought an opportunity to interview the latter on a subject, 
that, for a few weeks past, had been occupying many of his 
thoughts. The applause, with which his Christmas-day toast 
had been greeted, had encouraged him to seek an occasion 
for acquiring more definite knowledge on a subject which lay 
near his heart. It came when Jack was packing his dress- 
suit case in the guest chamber. 

There was a knock on the half-opened door. 

“ Come in,” said Jack, and Budd made his appearance. 

“ Halloo, Budd! What can I do for you ? Any com¬ 
missions in New York, or Boston? ” 

“ Don’t know what you mean by commissions,” replied 
Budd, cautiously, thrusting both hands deep into the pockets 
of his knickerbockers, and spreading his sturdy legs to a 
wide V. 

“ Anything I can buy with that hen-and-jam money you 
helped to earn ? — you did well, Budd, on that. I congratu¬ 
late you.” 

“ I haven’t any of that money left. You see, we voted to 
give it to March to go to college with. But I’ve got two 
quarters an’ a dollar — Christmas presents, you know; an’ 
that’ll do, won’t it ? ” he asked rather anxiously. 

“ Well, that depends on what you buy,” said Jack with 
due seriousness. 


A Daughter of the Rich 173 

“You’ll keep mum, Mr. Sherrill, if I tell you?” said 
Budd, inquiringly. 

“ Mum’s the word, if you say so, Budd; out with it.” 

“ Well, I want two things; one thing to make me feel 
grown up, an’ I’ve wanted it for a year.” 

“ What’s that Budd? ” asked Jack, immensely amused at 
Budd’s swelling manhood — “A pair of long trousers ? ” 

“ No — ” Budd hesitated for a moment, then went on in 
rather an aggrieved tone; “ I hate to wear waists with but¬ 
tons ; it’s just like a baby, an’ a fellow can’t feel grown up 
when he has to button everything on. I want to hitch things 
up the way March an’ Chi do, an’ I want you to buy me a 
shirt like that one you’re rolling up — only not flannel, — 
with a flap, you know, to tuck in.” 

“ Oh, that’s it, is it? ” said Jack, endeavoring to keep his 
face and v'oice from? betraying his inward amusement. 
“ Well, I think you can get one for seventy-five cents —plain 
or striped ? ” 

“ I like those narrow blue striped ones like yours best,” he 
replied, pointing to one of Jack’s. 

“ Like mine it shall be, Budd; but you’ll want a pair of 
suspenders, or there’ll be too much hitching to be agreeable 
to you.” 

“ March has an old pair, an’ I’m going to borrow them.” 

“ That’s an idea; now, what’s the second thing? ” 

“ A ring.” 

“A ring?” Jack looked amazed. 

Budd nodded. 

“For yourself?” Jack questioned further. 

“ No — for somebody else.” 

“ Do you mean a finger ring? ” 

Budd nodded again emphatically. 


174 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Engagement? ” laughed Jack, at last, the fun getting the 
better of him. 

Budd’s mouth puckered into solemnity; “ No — wed¬ 
ding.” 

Jack gave up the packing, and sat down, shaken with 
laughter, on the first convenient chair. 

“Pardon me for laughing, Budd, but I can’t help it. 
What do you want of a wedding ring? Is it for that ‘ first 
wife’ of yours you toasted yesterday at dinner?” 

Budd nodded again. “ I don’t see anything to laugh at,” 
he said, with a reproachful glance. “ You wouldn’t if you 
was me.” 

“ No, I don’t think I should; you’re right there, Budd,” 
he replied, sobering suddenly after his outburst of laughter. 
“ When is the wedding to be? ” 

Budd looked thoughtful. “ I haven’t proposed yet,” was 
his matter-of-fact answer. 

“ Well, why don’t you? ” Jack, sinner that he was, scented 
some fun at Budd’s expense. 

“ I’m going to when I know how,” said Budd, humbly. 

“ Why don’t you take lessons ? ” suggested Jack. 

“ I have.” 

“Of whom ? ” 

“ Chi.” 

Jack shouted. “ What did Chi say? ” he demanded when 
he had regained his breath. 

“ He said if he wanted to marry a girl, he’d say what he 
wanted to — tell ’em he was fond of ’em.” 

“ ‘ Fond of them ’ — hm,” repeated Jack, thoughtfully. 

“What do you say?” questioned Budd, turning the 
tables rather suddenly on Jack. 

“ I don’t say — never said,” replied Jack, shortly. 


A Daughter of the Rich 175 

“ That’s what Chi said. He said if I begun early I’d find 
out how.” 

“ You seem to be on the right road for it.” 

“ Would you say ‘ fond of her ’ ? ” persisted Budd. 

“ Yes, I think I should,” Jack replied with a peculiar 
smile; “ but, of course, it would depend on the girl.” 

“ Why, that’s just what Chi said! ” 

“ He did, did he! ” Jack laughed; “ Chi knows a thing or 
two.” 

“ But I thought you’d know more.” Budd’s face began 
to wear a puzzled look. 

Just then Jack heard Rose’s voice in the long-room asking 
where Mr. Sherrill was, and the sound brought home to him 
a realizing sense of the fact that there was but an hour be¬ 
fore they left for the station, and every moment too precious 
to be wasted on Budd. Rising, and proceeding with his 
packing, he said with perfect seriousness: — 

“ Well, Budd, all I can say is, that if I were going to ask 
a girl to marry me, I should ask her if she thought enough 
of me to take me with all my imperfections and — ” 

“ Where are you, Jack? ” called Hazel, at the foot of the 
stairs; “ Chi has to go an hour earlier than he said, and the 
sleigh is at the door.” 

In the hurry of Jack’s good-byes and departure, the 
sentence was never finished, and the ring forgotten by him. 
But Budd remembered. 

He was a sturdy little chap, broad of shoulder, strong of 
limb. His sandy red hair bristled straight up from his full 
forehead. His pale blue eyes, with thick reddish-brown 
lashes, were round and serious. His nose was a freckled 
pug, and his small mouth puckered, when he was very much 
in earnest, to the size of a buttonhole. From the time he 
had championed Hazel’s coming to them, nearly a year ago, 


176 A Daughter of the Rich 

he had never wavered in his allegiance to her, and in his 
small-boy way showed her his entire devotion. Hazel had 
been so grateful to him for his whole-souled welcome of her, 
that she took pains to make his boy’s heart happy in every 
way she could. 

For Hazel, Budd was never in the way; never asked too 
many questions for her patience; never teased her beyond 
endurance. He found in her a ready listener, a good sym¬ 
pathizer, a capital playmate, and a loving girl-friend, who 
reproved him sometimes and, at others, praised him. What 
wonder that his ten-year-old heart had warmed towards her 
with its first boy-love ? and that in his manly, practical way, 
he made of her an ideal ? 

“ I love Hazel, and when I am big enough, I shall marry 
her,” was what he said to himself whenever he stopped his 
play long enough to think about it at all. Naturally it 
seemed the wisest thing to tell her this when he should find 
the opportunity, and at the same time recall the fact. 

Fortified by the testimony of Chi and Jack, he bided his 
time. 

One Saturday afternoon in January, Rose said suddenly 
to Hazel: “ I wish I could do some of the things that you 
do, Hazel.” Hazel looked up from her book in surprise. 

“ What can I do that you can’t do, Rose ? ” 

“ You dance so beautifully, and I’ve always wanted to 
know how. I feel so awkward when I see you dance the 
Highland Fling.” 

“ Is that all ? ” Hazel laughed a happy laugh. “ I can 
teach you to dance as easy as anything, if you’ll let me.” 

“ Let you! ” Rose exclaimed, flushing with pleasure; 
“ just you try and see. But where can we practise? ” 

“ Oh, out in the barn,” cried Hazel. “ It’ll be lots of 
fun; of course, it’s awfully cold, but the skipping about will 


A Daughter of the Rich 177 

keep us warm. I’ll tell you what — I’ll play on the violin, 
and you and March and Budd and Cherry can learn square 
dances first. 

“ What fun! ” said Rose. 

“What’s the joke?” asked March, coming in at that 
moment with Budd and Cherry. 

“ We’re going to have a dance in the bam; Hazel’s going 
to teach us. She says she can do it easy enough.” 

“ Oh, bully! ” Budd threw up his tam-o’-shanter, and 
Cherry, attempting to charge up and down the long-room as 
she had seen Hazel at the Fords’, tripped on the rug and fell 
her length. When March had picked her up she rubbed her 
nose, which was growing decidedly pink, and sniffed a little, 
then asked suddenly: — 

“Who’s going to be my partner? They always have 
partners in the story books.” 

“ Sure enough,” Rose laughed. “ Whatever will we do, 
Hazel?” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Hazel, ruefully. “Of 
course, it takes eight.” 

“ Why can’t we have chairs for partners ? ” said Cherry. 
“We can bow to them just as if they were alive, and make 
them move round, can’t we ? ” 

They all laughed at Cherry’s inspiration. 

“ You’re a brick, Cherry Bounce,” said March, approv¬ 
ingly. “ All choose your partners! ” And, thereupon, he 
seized one of the kitchen chairs, and the rest followed his 
example. Hazel took her violin, and hooded and mittened 
and coated and mufflered, they trooped out to the barn, each 
lugging a wooden chair. 

“ Now I’ll give you the first four changes,” said Hazel, 
illustrating, as well as she could in trying to be two couples 


178 A Daughter of the Rich 

at once, the first movements. “ Form your square and get 
ready.” 

They obeyed with alacrity, and Hazel drew her bow across 
the strings. 

“ All curtsy to your partners! ” she shouted, and the chair- 
partners received a bow, and, in turn, were made to thump 
the floor by being laid over on their backs, and righted sud¬ 
denly. 

“ First couple forward and back! ” shouted Hazel, and 
away went Rose dragging her chair after her to meet March 
and his chair — thumpity-thump — thumpity-thump. 

They were in dead earnest, and the chairs were made to 
behave in a most human way. 

All went well until they came to the Grand Right and 
Left; then there arose such a medley of shrieks of laughter, 
wild wails from the violin, thumps from sixteeen chair-legs, 
and stamping from eight human ones as was never heard 
before. In a few minutes all was inextricable confusion, 
and the noise might have been best compared to a Medicine 
Dance among the Sioux Indians. 

Upon this scene Mr. Blossom and Chi, on their return 
from the wood, looked with amazement. 

“They seem to be havin’ a regular pow-wow,” Chi re¬ 
marked dryly, as the exhausted dancers and musicians sat 
down, panting for breath, on their wooden partners. 
“ Rose-pose is about as young as any of ’em — but it beats 
all, how she’s shootin’ up into womanhood.” 

“ She’s no longer my little Rosebud Blossom,” said her 
father, rather sadly. “ I dread the time when the birds be¬ 
gin to fly from the nest, and I see it coming with March and 
Rose.” 

Just then Rose caught sight of her father, and ran to him 
linking her arm in his. “We’ve had such fun, father! 


A Daughter of the Rich 179 

We’re learning to dance; you must be my partner some¬ 
time, for Hazel’s going to teach us the schottische next.” 

Rose never forgot the look of love her father gave her, 
nor the feel of his hand as he laid it on her hooded head: 
“ Be my little Rose-pose, as long as you can, dear; you’re 
growing up too fast.” 

She recalled afterwards that this first dance in the barn 
marked the last time that she abandoned herself to the chil¬ 
dren’s fun with a girl’s careless heart. 

The winter twilight was fast closing about the Mountain 
and the children just returning to the house, when Chi went 
out to milk. Leaving his lantern, stool, and pails in the first 
stall, he entered the third one to tie one of the cows to a 
shorter stanchion. Before he had finished he heard Budd’s 
voice, and, looking over the partition, saw him standing with 
Hazel in the circle of light about the lantern. In another 
minute he began to feel like an eavesdropper. 

“ What did you want me to come here for, Budd? ” said 
Hazel, dancing on the barn floor to warm her feet. 

“ I want to tell you something,” said Budd, blowing on 
his cold fingers. 

“ Well, hurry up and tell; it’s simply freezing here. Is it 
a secret ? ” 

“ Kinder,” replied Budd, blowing harder; then, suddenly 
ceasing the bellows movement, he drew a step nearer to 
Hazel, and, putting the tips of his pudgy fingers together to 
make a triangle, he puckered his mouth solemnly and said, 
looking up at her with earnest eyes: — 

“ I’m very fond of you.” 

Hazel laughed merrily. “ Why, of course you are, you 
funny boy; you’ve always been fond of me, haven’t you? 
I’m sure I’ve always been fond of you. Is that what you 
kept me out here in the cold to say ? ” 


180 A Daughter of the Rich 

“Not all;” Budd nodded seriously. “I’m very fond of 
you, an' — an’ if you’ll take me with all my perfections — I 
think that’s the way it goes — if I haven’t got the ring yet, 
it will be just the same, you know.” He paused, and in the 
circle of light Chi could see the entire earnestness of his at¬ 
titude. 

“ Goodness me, Budd! What do you mean about rings 
and things ? ” 

“I want to marry you when I’m big — an’ I thought I’d 
speak ’fore anyone else did to get ahead of ’em.” Budd 
hastened to explain, as Hazel showed signs of impatience. 

“ Oh, is that all! ” Hazel breathed a sigh of relief. “ I 
thought something was the matter with you. Why, of 
course you’re fond of me, Budd; but I couldn’t marry you, 
for I’m older than you, you know.” 

“ I never thought of that,” said Budd, beginning to blink 
rather suspiciously, “ I thought — ” 

“ Now, look here, Budd,” said Hazel, in a business-like 
way; “ I think everything of you, too, and I’ll tell you what 
you can be —• ” 

“ What ” interrupted Budd, eagerly, balancing himself on 
the tips of his toes. 

“ My knight! ” said Hazel, triumphantly, “ and wear my 
colors. I’ll give you a bow of crimson ribbon — I’m Har¬ 
vard, you know — and you must wear it till you die. And 
I ha^e a white kid party glove I’ll give you, too, and that 
will mean I’m your lady-love, and it will be just like the 
days of chivalry, you know we were reading about them 
the other day.” 

“ And you won’t mind about the ring?” queried Budd, 
rather wistfully. 

“ Not a bit — a glove is much nicer than a ring, and — ” 


A Daughter of the Rich 181 

“ Moo — oo — oo — ” came from the next stall. 

“ Oh, goodness gracious! How that made me jump. I’m 
not going to stay out here another minute; so come along if 
you’re coming ” — and the knight meekly followed his 
lady-love into the house 


XIX 


A YEAR AND A DAY 

“ It seems queer to settle down the way we have, ever 
since Christmas. We had such fun up to that time.” Hazel 
heaved a long sigh as she wrestled with her Latin and the 
Third Conjugation. 

Rose looked up from her Cicero and smiled at the bored 
expression on Hazel’s face. “ I know, Latin is awfully dull 
at first, but when you can read it, you’ll like it. If only you 
could hear Cicero give this horrid Catiline — the old traitor 
— ‘ Hail Columbia ’ as March says, you couldn’t help liking 
Latin. Then, too, if we hadn’t settled down, where would 
my French have been?” 

But Hazel still pouted a little. “ I wish papa hadn’t 
wanted me to study at all this winter — I don’t see why, 
when Doctor Heath is always talking about its ‘ effect on 
my health —* ’ ” 

She was interrupted by a merry laugh. Rose threw down 
her Cicero, caught away the grammar from Hazel, and, seiz¬ 
ing her by the hand, drew her into the little bedroom. Then, 
taking her by the shoulders, she whirled her about until she 
faced the small looking-glass. 

“ There! ” she exclaimed, still laughing, “ look at that 
face before you talk about any ‘ effect on your health.’ ” 

Hazel looked at the reflection in the mirror, and smiled 
in spite of herself. What a contrast to what she was a year 
ago! For to-morrow would be St. Valentine’s day. There 


A Daughter of the Rich 183 

were real American Beauty roses on her cheeks; the dark 
eyes were full of sparkling life; the chestnut-brown hair 
fell in heavy curls upon her shoulders. She had grown tall, 
too, but rounded in the process, and the healthful, bodily 
exercise had given her grace of carriage — she was straight 
as an arrow, and as lithe as a willow wand. 

“ Perhaps I shall feel more interest when Miss Alton is 
here, for she is a regular teacher. When is she coming, 
Rose?” 

“ The very last of the month, when the spring term opens. 
It’s our turn to have the district-school teacher board with 
us, and I’ve never liked it before. But now I can’t wait for 
Miss Alton to come. I think she’s lovely.” 

“ She isn’t half as lovely as you are, Rose,” said Hazel, 
turning suddenly from the glass, in which she had been 
scrutinizing her reflection, and giving Rose an unexpected 
squeeze and a hearty kiss. “ I think you are the most beau¬ 
tiful girl I have ever seen, I heard Doctor Heath say so; 
and — I told Jack so on Christmas night.” 

“ I’ll warrant he didn’t agree with you,” said Rose, with 
a pleased smile. “ You forget Miss Seaton.” 

“ I know.” Hazel shook her head dubiously. “ He didn’t 
say a word to me about you — I don’t care if he didn’t, 
Rose-pose, you’re worth all the Maude Seatons in the world, 
and I’d give anything to have you for my real cousin instead 
of her, if only Jack —” 

“ I don’t know what you are talking about, Hazel,” said 
Rose, interrupting her shortly and sharply. 

“ And I don’t know why you are speaking to me in that 
tone, Rose Blossom,” retorted Hazel, both angry and hurt. 
“ I’ve said nothing I’m ashamed of, and I shall say it when¬ 
ever I choose and to whomever I please, so now.” She flung 


184 A Daughter of the Rich 

out of the room, but not before Rose had laid a firm hand 
upon her shoulder. 

“ Hazel Clyde, if ever you speak of that again to anyone, 
I’ll break friendship with you, see if I don’t.” 

“ Break then,” Hazel twitched her shoulder from under 
the detaining hand. “ I’ll speak whenever I choose. I only 
said I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever 
seen, and I wished that you were going to be my real cousin, 
instead of Miss Seaton, and you needn’t get mad just be¬ 
cause Jack doesn’t happen to think as I do —• ” 

“ Hazel Clyde! ” Rose stamped her foot, “ don’t you 
speak another word to me; I’ll not hear it.” Rose stuffed 
both fingers into her ears, and beat an ignominious retreat 
to her own room, where she shut herself in, and was invisible 
until tea-time. 

The family were late in sitting down to the table, for Mrs. 
Blossom wanted to wait for Chi, who had driven down to 
Barton’s River to take Mr. Blossom to the train, and had 
arranged to bring March home with him. 

It was seven already. “ We won’t wait any longer, chil¬ 
dren,” said Mr9. Blossom. “ Something must have detained 
Chi. Budd, you may say ‘ grace ’ to-night,” she added as she 
took her seat. 

Budd looked up in amazement. “ Why, Martie, Rose is 
here and you always —• ” 

“ That will do, Budd,” said his mother, quietly, ignoring 
the flame that shot up to the root of Rose’s hair, and the cool 
look of indifference on; Hazel’s face. Budd folded his 
pudgy hands and repeated reverently the words he had heard 
father, or mother, or sister say ever since he could remem¬ 
ber. Scarcely had he finished when Tell’s deep note of wel¬ 
come sounded somewhere from the road, and the sleigh- 
bells rang out on the still air. 


A Daughter of the Rich 185 

“There they are! ” cried Cherry. “ May I go to meet 
them?” 

“ Yes — but put your cape over you, it’s so chilly to¬ 
night.” 

In a minute Cherry was back again, every single curl 
bobbing with excitement. 

“ Oh, Martie! Chi’s bringing in something all done up 
in the buffalo robe, and March won’t tell me what it is.” 

She was followed by March who walked up to his mother, 
put both arms about her and gave her a quiet kiss. 

“ There, little Mother Blossom, is my valentine for you,” 
he said half-shyly, half-proudly, and placed in her hands 
his first term’s report and a set of books. 

“ Oh, March, my dear boy! ” said his mother, rising from 
the table and placing both hands on the broad square shoul¬ 
ders of her six-foot specimen of youth, “ I’m afraid I’m get¬ 
ting too proud of you. Did you get the first Latin prize? ” 

“ You bet I did, Martie.” March’s rare smile illumined 
his face. “ There isn’t another fellow at Barton’s, who can 
boast of such a mother as I have, and I wasn’t going to let 
any second-class mothers read those books before you did. 
By Cicky!” (which was March’s favorite name for the 
famous orator) — “ But I’ve worked like a Turk, and I’m 
hungry as a Russian bear. Why, Rose, what’s the matter 
with you? You look awfully glum, and Hazel, too. Here 
comes Chi; he’s bringing something that will cheer you up. 
The truth is, mother, these girls miss me.” 

“ Indeed, I do, March,” said Hazel, looking straight up 
into his eyes and showing the amazed lad tears trembling in 
her own. 

“ Guess there’ll be some breakin’ of hearts, this year, Mis’ 
Blossom.” Chi’s cheery voice was welcome to them all for 


186 A Daughter of the Rich 

some unknown reason. He came in loaded with huge paste¬ 
board boxes. 

“ Your arms will break first, Chi,” said Mrs. Blossom, 
hastening with March to relieve him. 

“ It ain’t the heft of ’em, it’s the bulk. Valentines are 
generally pretty light weight. Romancin’ ’n’ sentiment don’t 
count for much, nowadays, though they take up considerable 
room.” He deposited the last box on the settle. “ ’N’ 
there’s a whole parcel of things come by mail. I ain’t 
looked at the superscribing — you read ’em out, Rose- 
pose.” 

Rose read the addresses; there was more than one mis¬ 
sive for each member of the family. 

“ Let’s have supper, first, mother,” said March, “ then 
after the table is cleared, we can sit round and guess who 
they’re from.” 

This proposition was welcomed by Budd and Cherry. 
Rose and Hazel gave a cordial assent, but there was a 
frigidity in the atmosphere which the outside temperature 
did not warrant. Chi and March were aware of this so soon 
as they entered the room, and Mrs. Blossom had known it 
the moment she saw the girls’ faces at the table. She 
thought it not wise to interfere, but let matters straighten 
themselves in good time. She felt she could trust them both 
to see things in their right light, without the aid of her 
mental glasses. 

“ Now let’s begin,” said Chi, rubbing his hands in glee 
as, directly after supper, he piled the boxes on the table 
while March laid the envelopes in their proper places before 
each member of the family. “ This top one says ‘ Miss 
Hazel Clyde.’ Show us your valentine, Lady-bird.” 

They re violets — from Jack, I know. He always sends 


A Daughter of the Rich 187 

them. What’s yours, Rose?” She spoke rather indiffer¬ 
ently. 

“ Oh, roses! ” Rose was having the first look all to her¬ 
self. “The loveliest things I have ever seen. Look, 
Martie! ” Rose held up the mass of exquisite bloom, and 
the children oh’ed and ah’ed at the sight. 

“ They’re from Mr. Sherrill,” said Rose, trying to speak 
in a most common-place tone, but, in her excitement, failing 
signally. 

“ They are lovely,” Hazel remarked, shooting an indig¬ 
nant glance at Rose. “ They’re just like the ones he sent 
Miss Seaton last year, only they were formed into a great 
heart. Papa gave me one just like it; he got his idea from 
Jack.” 

Rose suddenly put down the flowers, in which she had 
buried her face to inhale their fragrance, as if something 
had stung her. 

“ Mr. Sherrill is very impartial with his favors,” she said 
in a tone that increased the pervading chill of the domestic 
atmosphere. 

“ Why, Rose! ” exclaimed Mrs. Blossom. “ It is not like 
you to receive a favor so ungraciously; you’ve never had 
flowers sent you before, and I’m sure you would never have 
them again if the donor could witness your reception of 
them.” 

“ I don’t care for them again, thank you,” Rose retorted 
with flaming cheeks; “ I’d give more for this of yours, 

Chi —” she opened a huge yellow envelope, and took from 
it a scarlet cardboard heart, with a small, white, artificial 
rose glued to the centre and a gilt paper arrow transfixing 
both rose and heart. 

Chi hemmed rather awkwardly, thinking: “ Beats the 

Dutch what’s got into Rose-pose to-night. I ain’t ever 


188 A Daughter of the Rich 

known her to treat a livin’ soul so shabby as that in all her 
life. Beats all what gets into women ’n’ girls, sometimes; 
when a feller thinks he’s doin’ ’em just the best turn he 
knows how, they up ’n’ get mad with him, ’n’ turn the cold 
shoulder, ’n’ upset things generally.” But aloud he said: 

“ I’m glad it pleases you, Rose. Can’t most always tell 
when it’s goin’ to please a girl or not. I suppose Jack 
now, thought you’d be tickled to get those posies just in 
the dead of winter. They don’t grow round here on our 
bushes. What’s in the other box ? ” 

“Why!” Hazel exclaimed, laughing rather half-hearted¬ 
ly, “ it’s addressed to ‘ Miss Maria-Ann Simmons ’ — and 
just look, Mother Blossom! See what that dear old Jack has 
sent her! He’s just too dear for anything.” She added 
emphatically; — “ I’d like to give him a kiss for thinking of 
that poor girl all alone over there on the Mountain. I 
don’t believe she ever had a valentine before. Look! Oh, 
look!” 

She took out of the many layers of wadding a mass of 
yellow tulips, their closed golden cups shining in the lamp¬ 
light as if gilded by sunbeams. 

“ Sho! ” was all Chi said, leaning nearer to examine the 
beautiful blossoms. 

“ You’ll take them over in the morning, early, won’t you, 
Chi ? ” said Hazel, replacing them. 

“ First thing, Lady-bird; guess you’re right, Rose, about 
that young feller’s bein’ ’n all-round man with his favors. 
Don’t seem to be much choice between you and Marier-Ann, 
’n’ that Miss Seaver. Kind of a toss-up, hey, Rose-pose? ” 

But Rose was too busy with another package to answer 
Chi. She grew wildly enthusiastic over the calla lilies that 
Alan Ford had sent her, and caressed their white envelopes, 
and praised their pure loveliness, until Hazel, growing 


A Daughter of the Rich 189 

jealous for poor Jack and his discarded gift, rose to put the 
neglected beauties in water, saying as she did so: 

“ I’m sure, Rose, if Jack had known you cared so much 
for lilies, he would have sent you some Easter ones, they’re 
out now. I’ll tell him to next time ” 

“ Hazel! ” Ros6 burst forth indignantly, “ do you mean 
to tell me you told Mr. Sherrill to send me these flowers 
for a valentine ? ” 

Then Hazel, stung by the tone and the words, yielded to 
temptation — for it had been the last straw. “ What if I 
did? she said with irritating calm, “he’s my cousin. I 
suppose I can say what I choose to him.” 

Rose answered never a word; but, rising, took the La 
France roses from the pitcher in which Hazel had just placed 
them, and, going over to the fireplace, deliberately cast 
the mass of delicate pink bloom into the fire. 

Mrs. Blossom looked both puzzled and shocked; this was 
wholly unlike Rose. What could it mean? The children 
were too awed by the proceeding to speak or exclaim. 
March looked gravely at Hazel, who burst into tears — it 
was such an insult to Jack! — and rushed into her bedroom 
and shut the door. 

“ I’m going to bed; good-night, Martie,” said Rose, 
quietly, after she had watched the last leaf shrivel in the 
flame, and, kissing her mother, she lighted her candle and 
went upstairs. Mrs. Blossom, following her with her eyes, 
felt that she had lost her “ little Rose ” in that hour. 

March looked grave, complained of feeling tired, and said 
he would go to bed, too, as to-morrow was the last day of 
school and there were two more examinations to take. Budd 
and Cherry kissed their mother twice, bade her good-night in 
suppressed tones and crept upstairs. “ It’s just as if some- 


190 A Daughter of the Rich 

body was sick in the house,” said Cherry, in an awed voice. 
Budd’s was sepulchral: — 

“ It’s just as if somebody was dead and all the flowers 
had come for the funeral.” 

Across the dining-room table, loaded with boxes and 
brilliant with valentines, Chi looked at Mrs. Blossom, and 
Mrs. Blossom looked at Chi. The whole affair was so 
incomprehensible, and the result so painfully disagreeable, 
that, for a while, they found no words with which to give 
expression to their feelings. Chi broke the silence: — 

“ Well! I wish I was one of those clairivoyants they tell 
about, ’n’ could kind of see into the meanin’ of this flare-up 
of Rose-pose’s. Don’t seem natural for Rose to go flyin’ 
off at a tangent that way. What’s she got against him, any¬ 
way? He’s about as likely as you’ll find. Beats me! ” Chi 
leaned both elbows on the table, unmindful that he was 
crushing some of the flowers, sank his chin in the palms of 
his hands and thought hard for full a minute. 

“ I know Hazel and Rose have had some little trouble 
this afternoon — the first quarrel they have had — but Rose 
is too old to allow herself to lose her control in that way. I 
can’t imagine what made her — ” Mrs. Blossom broke off 
suddenly, for Chi had raised his head and sent such a look 
of intelligence across the table, handing her, as he did so, 
Jack Sherrill’s card, which Rose in her confusion had ne¬ 
glected to read, that, in a flash, something of the truth was 
revealed to Mrs. Blossom. 

She took the card. On the back was written, enclosed in 
quotation marks: — 

“ For I am thine 
Whilst the stars shall shine, 

To the last — to the last.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 191 

“ O Chi! ” was all Mary Blossom said; but the tears filled 
her eyes, and, reaching across the table, her hand was clasped 
in Chi’s strong one. 

“ I wish Ben was to home,” sighed Chi, so lugubriously 
that Mrs. Blossom laughed through her tears. 

“ Oh, it isn’t so bad as that, Chi. Girls will be girls, and 
grow up, and hearts will ache even when we’re young. We 
won’t make too much of it. I don’t understand the ins 
and outs of it, but I do know Hazel has said her family 
thought he was engaged to Miss Seaton. I’m sure I’ve 
thought so all along, and it never occurred to me there could 
be any danger for Rose under the circumstances. The mere 
fact of his name being connected so closely with Miss Sea¬ 
ton’s would be a safeguard. Then, too, I fear he is spoiled 
by women on account of his riches.” 

“ I don’t know about that Miss Seaver, — but if it’s as 
you say, I kind of wish Rose could cut her out.” 

“ Sh-sh, Chi! ” said Mrs. Blossom, reprovingly. 

“ Well, I do,” Chi retorted with some warmth. “ She 
ain’t fit to tie Rose’s old berryin’ shoes, ’n’ I saw her lookin’ 
at her feet that day we was sellin’ berries down to Barton’s 
to the tavern, ’n’ snickerin’ so mean like, ’n’ Rose just 
showed her grit — ’n’ I wish she’d show it again ’n’ cut 
her out. I do, by George Washington! ” Chi rose up in his 
wrath, lighted his lantern, and started for the shed. At 
the door he turned: — 

“ I wish Ben was to home,” he said again. “ There’s 
goin’ to be the biggest kind of a snow-down before long, ’n’ 
he’ll get blocked on the road, sure as blazes.” 

“ He’ll be back in two days, at the most, Chi; I wouldn’t 
worry.” 

“I ain’t worryin’; I’m just sayin’ I wish he was to 
home,” repeated Chi, doggedly, and shut the door. 


192 A Daughter of the Rich 

Mrs. Blossom smiled. She knew Chi’s crotchets. When 
there was any disturbance of the family peace, Chi was apt 
to be depressed, and sometimes despondent. She put away 
the flowers in the cold pantry, smiling as she tied up Maria- 
Ann’s box: 

“ He is universal,” she said to herself. “ I know it irri¬ 
tated Rose to be classed with her and Miss Seaton; but 
things will work around right with time. I can trust to 
Rose’s common-sense. — Not a prayer to-night! ” she added 
thoughtfully. “ Well, we’ll make it up to-morrow.” She 
took up the prize books. “ That dear March! What a 
manly fellow he is getting to be — and so handsome. I 
wonder — ” here Mary Blossom checked herself, laughing 
softly. “ Goodness! if Ben were here what a goose he would 
think me — a regular old Mother Goose — ” And again 
she laughed as she put out the light. 


XX 


SNOW-BOUND 

They were all on the porch the next morning to see March 
off. It was not so very cold, but there was a marked chill 
in the air and the sky was leaden. 

“ It’s my last day, mother, then vacation for two weeks. 
Hooray!” He leaped into the saddle, and Fleet reared 
gently to show her approval. 

“ Don’t you get out a little earlier to-day, March ?” said 
his mother, looking up at the leaden sky. “ I’m afraid it’s 
going to snow heavily. Promise me not to start from Bar¬ 
ton’s if the storm is a hard one; you can stay at the inn or 
at the principal’s. I would rather you remained away from 
home two days, or over Sunday, than to have you attempt 
the Mountain in too severe a storm.” 

“ I’ll be careful, mother.” 

“ Better give your promise to your mother, March; she’ll 
feel better ’bout you’re not startin’ out,” said Chi. 

“ I promise, little Mother Blossom.” He threw himself off 
the horse, and gave her another kiss; ‘‘I wouldn’t go to¬ 
day except for the exams. — I can’t miss them.” 

“ Good luck, dear,” said his mother, and her eyes followed 
the horse and rider down the Mountain. 

“ I’ll go over the first thing ’n’ give them posies to 
Marier-Ann, ’n’ then I’ll make tracks for home, ’n’ get my 
snow-shed up before it begins to come down.” 

“ Do you think we shall need it ? ” 


194 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Sure’s fate,” replied Chi, laconically, and went into the 
barn to harness Bess. 

It was noon before Chi had set up his snow-shed, a long, 
low, wooden tunnel, which he had manufactured to connect 
the woodshed door with a side door of the barn. By means 
of this he was enabled, in unusually heavy storms, to com¬ 
municate with the barn and attend to the stock without 
“ shovelling out.” 

It was about three in the afternoon when the first flakes 
began to fall, or rather to “ spit,” as Chi expressed it, and 
the snow fell intermittently and lightly until four, when 
there was a sudden change of wind. It veered to the north¬ 
east, and blast after blast, charged with icy particles, hurled 
itself against the Mountain. Within half an hour it was 
almost as dark as at midnight, and the snow swept in drift¬ 
ing clouds over woodlands and pasture. When the wind 
ceased for a moment, white, soft avalanches descended upon 
farmhouse, barn, and mountain-road, until, by six o’clock, 
the road was impassable and the drifts at the back of the 
house a foot above the bedroom windows. Chi had made all 
snug for the night. 

“ This beats anything I ever saw, Mis’ Blossom. Fm 
mightly glad Ben ain’t cornin’ home to-day, ’n’ that March 
gave you the promise to stay at Barton’s if it stormed 
hard.” 

“ You don’t think he would venture to start, do you, 
Chi ? ” asked Mrs. Blossom, trying not to appear anxious 
for the sake of the others. 

“ Bless you, no; ” was Chi’s hearty response. “ March 
has got too level a head to risk himself ’n’ Fleet in such 
a storm — it’s a regular howler of a blizzard. If he did 
start,” he added, “ he’d go in somewhere on the road — he 
couldn’t get far.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 195 

After tea there was no settling down to the cosy eve¬ 
ning pastimes or employments. If such a thing could be, 
the storm seemed to increase in severity. The wind struck 
the house at times with terrific force: the intermittent drift 
of snow and ice against the window panes startled the in¬ 
mates of the long-room like the rattle of small shot. Chi had 
put out the fire in the fireplace before supper, for the wind 
drove flame and ashes out into the room. 

Again and again Mrs. Blossom went to the windows — 
first one then another, and pressed her face close to the pane; 
but they were plastered so thick with snow that her efforts 
to see into the night were fruitless. Chi sat by the kitchen 
stove, which he had filled with wood. His boots rested on 
the fender, and, apparently, he was indifferent to the storm, 
But, in reality, not the creak of a beam, not the springing 
of a board, not an unwonted sound within or without the 
house escaped his notice. 

In marked contrast to Chi’s apparent apathy was Tell’s 
restlessness. Since six o’clock he had shown signs of un¬ 
easiness. With strides, heavy and long, the huge beast paced 
up and down the long-room. Sometimes he followed Mrs. 
Blossom to the window, and, sitting down on his haunches 
beside her, rested his nose on the window sill and gazed 
at the whitened panes At others he took his stand beside 
Chi and looked into his face, their eyes meeting on a level 
as the man sat and the dog stood. The dog looked as if 
he were questioning him dumbly. 

As the evening wore on the dog’s pace grew more rapid, 
more uneven; his tail waved in a jerky, excited manner. 
At last he lay down by the shed door, and, placing his nose 
on the threshold, gave vent to a long, low, half-stifled moan. 
At the sound Chi brought down his heels and the tipped 
chair-legs with a thump, and started to his feet. Mrs. 


196 A Daughter of the Rich 

Blossom turned to him with a white face, and Rose cried 
out: — 

“ Oh, Chi! What’s the matter with Tell? He never 
acted this way before.” 

“ Don’t know,” said Chi, shortly; “ dumb beasts are curi¬ 
ous creatures. Guess he don’t like the storm. I’ll go out, 
Mis’ Blossom, ’n’ see if the stock’s all right. Kind of looks 
as if Tell was givin’ us a warnin’.” 

“ Oh, Chi, don’t go through the tunnel now,” cried Mrs. 
Blossom, all the pent-up anxiety finding expression in her 
voice. 

Chi manufactured a laugh: “ That’s all safe, Mis’ Blos¬ 
som. I chained it and roped it down, both — it can’t get 
away, ’n’ the snow can’t crush it. Don’t you worry about 
me. I’ll be back inside of fifteen minutes.” He took his 
lantern from the shelf over the sink: — “Get up, Tell.” 
The dog rose, but, as Chi opened the door, he tried to push 
past him. Chi crowded him with his leg: — “ No you don’t, 
old feller! there ain’t room only for just one of us to-night. 
Lay down! ” 

And Tell lay down, with his nose on his paws, and both 
nose and paws pressed close to the crack on the threshold. 
Another long crescendo moan, that, at the last, sounded 
like a sharp wail, filled the long-room, and Budd and Cherry 
clung to their mother in terror. 

“ You must go to bed, children,” said Mrs. Blossom, her 
face white as the snow on the window panes, but with a 
voice of forced calm. “ When you’re asleep, you won’t hear 
all this trouble the storm is raising to-night.” 

“ But I don’t want to sleep upstairs alone without March, 
Martie,” protested Budd, trying to be brave, but showing 
his fear. 


A Daughter of the Rich 197 

“ You can sleep in Hazel’s room to-night, Budd, and 
Cherry can get into my bed and sleep with me.” 

The twins looked relieved. “ Oh, that’s different, Mar- 
tie,” said Budd, with a grateful look. Cherry begged for 
a little cotton wool to stuff in her ears: — “ Then I can’t 
hear Tell and this awful noise.” A novel idea, which Budd 
at once adopted and put into practice. Their mother looked 
relieved when they were safely bestowed in their new quar¬ 
ters. 

About ten minutes afterwards they heard Chi’s steps in 
the shed. Then the door opened slowly, as he shoved Tell 
aside. When he entered the room Mrs. Blossom gave one 
look at his face. 

“ Oh, Chi, what has happened! ” she cried out as if hurt. 

Chi’s face showed grayish white and drawn in the lamp¬ 
light. His hand shook a little as he reached for a second 
lantern, turning his back on the three terrified faces. 

“ Horse stalled, that’s all. Had a tough tussle to get him 
round, but he’s all right now.” His voice sounded hoarse. 

“ Was it Bob or Bess? ” asked Rose. 

Chi, without answering, turned quickly to Tell, who was 
pressing him nearly off his feet, and at the same time, lash¬ 
ing his tail as if in fury. 

“ What ails you, anyway? ” said Chi, roughly. “ D’ you 
want to get out ? ” 

For answer the dog rushed to the front door that opened 
on the porch, rose on his hind legs, stemmed his powerful 
forepaws against the panels and, throwing back his massive 
head, sent forth from his deep throat a roar that seemed to 
shake the rafters. 

“ Mis’ Blossom,” Chi’s voice shook and his hand trem¬ 
bled till the glass globe of the lantern tinkled in the wire 
frame, “ I’m goin’ to let him out, ’n’ I’m going to follow 


198 A Daughter of the Rich 

on — there’s trouble somewhere on the Mountain, V I’m 
goin’ to find out where’t is.” 

All three cried out, protesting, entreating, praying him to 
desist. But Chi shook his head. 

“ I tell you I’ve got to go, Mary Blossom ” — Chi had 
never called her that but once before, and Mrs. Blossom, re¬ 
calling the time, felt her heart as lead within her — “ you’re 
brave, — brave as a woman can be; don’t say nothin’, but 
let me go. Have plenty of hot water ’n’ flannels, ’n’ some 
spirits ready ’gainst I come back — 

“ Lady-bird, give me the dog collar with the bell you gave 
Tell last Chris’mus; ’n’ Molly Stark, fill your mother’s hot 
water-bag — ’n’ hurry up; ’n’ Mis’ Blossom, give me Ben’s 
brandy flask, he didn’t take it with him.” 

Chi, while issuing these orders, was strapping down his 
trousers over his long boots; then he poured out a brimming 
cup of hot water, and mixed with it some of the brandy 
from the flask. He put the collar on Tell, the bell ringing 
loud and clear with every movement. He opened the door; 
the dog bounded out into the night. Chi followed him, a 
coil of rope around his neck, a shovel over one shoulder with 
a lantern suspended from the handle, and in his hand a sec¬ 
ond lantern. The hot-water bag he had put beneath his 
sweater, and a leathern belt girded him. 

So equipped he went out into the drifting snows and the 
night of storm. The terrified women were left alone. 

“ Mother, oh, mother! ” cried Rose, wringing her hands, 
“ I know it’s something dreadful; Chi would never look that 
way.” 

Mary Blossom could not answer. Her silence was prayer. 
It was all of which she was capable at that time. 

“ I don’t know what the matter was in the barn, mother,” 
again cried Rose, in an agony of fear. “ Chi didn’t tell us 


A Daughter of the Rich 199 

all, I’m sure. Let me go through the tunnel and find out, do, 
mother! ” 

“ Oh, Rose, I can’t — I can’t! ” Mrs. Blossom spoke 
under her breath. 

“ Please, mother. It’s all safe, and the wind has gone 
down a little since Chi went; let me go — I can’t rest till I 
do. You can hold the light at the shed door end and I 
won’t be gone but a minute or two. I’ll take the dark lan¬ 
tern with me — Oh, mother! do, do —!” 

“ Well, Rose, perhaps it’s for the best. I’ll watch you 
through.” 

“ May I watch, too? ” asked Hazel, eagerly. 

“ No, dear, I want you to stay here in case the children 
should wake. Come, Rose.” 

They were gone but a few minutes; then Mrs. Blossom 
came in followed by her daughter. The girl’s teeth were 
chattering; she looked blue and pinched. 

“ What did you find, Rose?” Her mother’s voice was 
scarce above a whisper. 

“ I found Fleet! ” 

The two women sat down on the settle, holding each 
other close; and the wind rose again in its fury. 

Wrapping a heavy shawl about her Hazel crept away up¬ 
stairs to the back garret and the window overlooking the 
woods’-road, which formed the approach to the house. 
There was a little snow-drift beneath it where the flakes 
had sifted through; but the wind was felt less severely on 
that side of the house. She opened the window a few inches, 
propping it on a corn cob she had stepped upon; then, kneel¬ 
ing, she put her ear to the opening and strained her hearing 
in every lull of the storm. 

At last — she knew not how long she had listened — she 
heard Tell’s deep roar. It came muffled, but distinct. She 


200 


A Daughter of the Rich 

scarce trusted her ears; but again she heard it, and, this 
time, in a dead silence, she caught the sound of the bell. 
Surely Tell was nearing the house. She ran downstairs. 

“ They’re coming! ” she cried, hardly realizing what she 
said in her excitement. Mrs. Blossom and Rose leaped to 
their feet. They threw open the door. 

“ Chi! Chi! ” they called out into the night. There was a 
joyous bark for answer — then a groan, and Chi staggered 
across the snow-laden porch and fell with his heavy burden 
on the threshold. 

At midnight the wind went down, but the snow continued 
to fall. All the next day it fell steadily, but at sunset it 
ceased, and a young moon looked over the shoulder of 
Mount Hunger upon an unbroken white coverlet that, in 
some places, was drifted to the depth of twenty feet. 

There was twilight in Aunt Tryphosa’s little cabin “ over 
eastwards,” for the snow was piled to the eaves, and the 
tulips furnished their only sunshine for two days. 

There was consternation at Hunger-ford, for the family 
were cut off from their neighbors and the outside world of 
letters and papers. 

There were councils at Lemuel’s and the Spillkinses’ — 
for how could they gather their forces to break out the 
Mountain ? 

There were heavy hearts and reddened eyelids in the 
farmhouse, for March, rescued by Chi and revived by 
vigorous treatment, had succumbed to the exposure and chill, 
and lay unconscious in fever — and no help at hand. 

Chi, spent to exhaustion, had rallied at midnight, but 
knew that it was beyond human powers to attempt to reach 
Barton’s or even Lemuel Wood’s, their next neighbor, 
through the drifts. 


201 


A Daughter of the Rich 

So they waited, helpless — one day, two days. On the 
second day the white expanse showed no tracks. Then 
March began to wander, and clutch his breast, where his 
mother had found the telegram, which his father had sent 
to him from Ogdensburg: — 

“ Heavy blizzard. Roads blocked. Tell mother at once. Don’t 
worry.” 

Chi walked the house night and day in his misery of 
helplessness. At last, on the third day, looking eastwards 
he descried a black blotch on the white, — it was a four- 
ox team breaking out from the Fords'. Later in the day, 
when the men were within two hundred yards of the house, 
he saw another black spot on the lower road. It was the 
Mill Settlement road-team, with a full equipment of men 
and tools, to cut a way through the drifts. 

Soon there was help and to spare. Alan Ford was riding 
down the narrow way between high walls of glittering white 
to Barton’s for aid, and bringing back telegrams of anxious 
inquiry from Mr. Blossom and Mr. Clyde. On the fourth 
day, the blockade was raised, and the south-bound express 
to Barton’s River brought Mr. Blossom from the north, 
and another train brought Mr. Clyde from the south. Two 
days after all the Lost Nation knew that March would live. 


XXI 


A LITTLE DAUGHTER OF THE RICH 

It was days before March himself was aware of that fact. 

Budd and Cherry were at the Fords’. May was with Aunt 
Tryphosa and Miss Alton at Lemuel Wood’s. Maria-Ann 
had come over to help Mrs. Blossom with the work, and 
Chi had taken care of the stock. Rose and her mother 
watched and waited in the sick room, relieved on alternate 
nights by Mr. Blossom and Chi. 

The great storm was a thing of the past. The sun 
shone in a deep blue heaven, and the white world of the 
Mountain showed daily life and movement. The teamsters 
were at work loading the sledges with logs, and the ponder¬ 
ous drags squeaked and grated as they slid down the crisping 
highway. 

A crow cawed loudly on the first of March, and the hens 
came out to find a warm nook in the south-east corner of 
the barn-yard, where a heap of sodden straw was thawing. 

All in the farmhouse were rejoicing, for March had 
spoken in his weakness — a few words, but clear, coherent, 
for the frost and fever, both, had left his brain. When he 
spoke the second time it was to ask for Chi; and Chi had 
tiptoed into the room in his stocking-feet and laid his hand 
on March’s thin, white one, gulped down the tears and the 
rising sob that was choking him, and — spoke of the 
weather! 

The next day March turned to his mother, who was 
sitting by the bed, brooding him with her great love, and 


A Daughter of the Rich 203 

asked suddenly, but in a clear and much stronger voice: 

“ Where’s Hazel?” 

Mrs. Blossom hesitated for a moment, then spoke quietly: 
— “ Hazel is at home with her father for a few weeks.” 

March turned his face to the wall and was silent for 
several hours. 

When he was stronger Mrs. Blossom gave him the little 
note Hazel had left for him, and, with mother-tact, knowing 
March’s reserve of nature, went out of the room while he 
read it. She saw no signs of it when she returned and asked 
no questions, but March’s gray eyes spoke a language for 
which there was but one interpretation. With his rare smile, 
he held out his hand for his mother’s, and clasped it closely. 

Soon he was able to be up and about, and the children 
were again at home. Life in the farmhouse resumed its 
old course — but with a difference. Just what it was no 
one attempted to define. But each felt it in his own way. 
March was more gentle with Budd and Cherry, more often 
with his mother and Chi, more companionable for his 
father. Rose was quieter, but, if possible, more loving 
towards all. Budd was at times wholly disconsolate, and 
wasted sheets of his best Christmas note-paper in writing 
letters to Hazel which were never sent. 

Chi went oftener to the small house “ over eastwards,” 
where he was sure of willing ears and sympathetic hearts 
when he unburdened himself in regard to his “ Lady-bird.” 

“ Fact is,” he said to Maria-Ann, as she stood with her 
apron over her head watching him plough their garden plot 
(that was his annual neighborly offering), “she’s left a 
great hole in that house, ’n’ there isn’t one of us that don’t 
know it ’n’ feel it; — kind of empty like in your heart, you 
know, just as your stomach feels when you’ve ploughed an 
acre of sidlin’ ground, before breakfast — Get up, Bess, 


204 d Daughter of the Rich 

whoa — back! — you don’t hear that laugh of hers in the 
barn, nor out in the field, nor up in the pasture; ’n’ you 
don’t see those great eyes lookin’ up at you when you’re har- 
nessin’, nor peekin’ round the corner of the stall to see if 
you’re most through milkin’. ’N’ you don’t hear a fiddle 
makin’ it lively after supper, ’n’ the children ain’t danced 
once in the barn this spring.” Chi sighed heavily. 

“Don’t Mr. Ford go over there pretty often?” queried 
Maria-Ann. “ I see him gallopin’ by two or three times a 
week.” 

“ Well, what if you do? ” Chi answered grumpily, much 
to Maria-Ann’s surprise. “ He can’t fiddle the way Lady¬ 
bird does, ’n’ they all sit ’n’ jabber some kind of lingo — 
French, they call it, but I call it, good, straight Canuck — 
’n’ act as if they were at a party, — Rose, ’n’ Miss Alton, ’n’ 
the whole of ’em. ’T ain’t much company for me. I get 
off to bed about dark. ’N’ the worst of it is, when he isn’t 
to our house, they’re all to his — Come around! ” Chi 
jerked the reins, to Bess’s resentful surprise. 

“They say he’s payin’ attention to Rose,” ventured 
Maria-Ann, her eyes following the furrow, which was 
running not quite true. 

“ They’re a parcel of fools,” growled Chi, eyeing the 
furrow with a dissatisfied air, “ Rose needn’t look Alan 
Ford’s way for attention. She can have all she wants most 
anywheres. — Get up, Bess! what you backin’ that way 
for! — ’n’ folks tongues can be measured by the furlong 
’twixt here and Barton’s.” 

“ Well, there ain’t any harm in Rose’s havin’ attention, 
Chi,” said Maria-Ann with some spirit, and ready to stand 
up for her sex. 

“ Didn’t say there was,” retorted Chi, in mollified tones. 


A Daughter of the Rich 205 

“ There ain’t no more harm in Rose’s havin’ attention than 
in your havin’ it.” 

“ Me! ” exclaimed Maria-Ann, pleasantly surprised out 
of her momentary resentment. “ I ain’t had any chance to 
have any.” 

“ Ain’t you? ” said Chi, busying himself with the plough 
preparatory to leaving. “ Well, that ain’t any sign you 
won’t have — Get along, Bess! — I’ll leave this plough here 
till to-morrow; I ain’t drawn those last two furrers straight, 
’n’ I’ve got too much pride to have any man see that — 
Malachi Graham, his mark. — No, sir-ee,” said Chi em¬ 
phatically, “ straight or starve is my motto every time, just 
you remember that, Marier-Ann Simmons.” 

“ I will, Chi,” laughed Maria-Ann, and went back to her 
washing, singing joyfully to her rubbing accompaniment: — 

“ Come, sinners all, repent in time, 

The Judgment Day is dawning; 

Sun, moon, and stars to earth incline, 

The trumpet sounds a warning.” 

Meanwhile letters were coming to every member of the 
family from Hazel. As March regained his strength there 
came as special gifts to him, books and magazines, and from 
time to time a beautiful photograph of an old-world cathe¬ 
dral— Canterbury, or York; a stately castle like Warwick, 
or Heidelberg; a peasant’s chalet, or an English cottage to 
gladden his artist soul and eye, and transform the walls of 
his room into dwelling-places for his ideals. 

“ Mother,” he said rather wistfully to Mrs. Blossom, on 
the first May day as they sat together under the old Wishing- 
Tree, talking over the plans for his future, “ how can I go 
to work to make it all come true? ” 

He held in his hand a large photograph of the interior of 
Cologne Cathedral, which Hazel had given him. 


206 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ There are many ways, dear, which are most unexpect¬ 
edly opened at times. No boy with health and perseverance 
has much to fear.” 

But, mother, father had both, and he wasn’t able to go 
through college. He told me all about it the other day, and 
how he had missed it all through his life.” 

“ I know, March, father failed in attaining to that which 
was his great desire, but he succeeded so immeasurably in 
another direction, that I think, sometimes, it must have been 
all for the best.” 

“ Why, mother, father is poor now — how do you mean 
he has succeeded?” 

“ My dear boy, you are only in your seventeenth year, 
and I don’t know that I can make it plain to you because 
you are young; but when your father conquered every 
selfish tendency in him, put aside what he had striven so hard 
for and what was just within his reach, and turned about 
and did the duty that the time demanded of him; — when 
he took his dead father’s place as provider for the family, 
and, by his own exertions, placed his mother and sisters 
beyond want, before he even allowed himself to tell me he 
loved me, he proved himself a successful man; for he de¬ 
veloped, in such hard circumstances, such nobility of char¬ 
acter, that he is rich in love and esteem, — and that, March, 
and only that, is true wealth.” 

“ I see what you mean, mother, but it doesn’t help me to 
see how I’m to get through college, and get the training I 
need in my profession.” March uttered the last word with 
pride. “ There is so much a man has to have for that. Look 
at that now,” he continued, holding up the photograph; “ I 
need all that, and that means Europe, and Europe means 
money and time, and where is it all to come from ? ” 

His mother smiled at the despairing tone. “ As for time, 


A Daughter of the Rich 20 7 

March, you are only in your seventeenth year. That means 
ten years before you can begin to work in your profession; 
and as for the means — ” she hesitated — “ I think it is 
time to tell you something I’ve been keeping and rejoicing 
over these last two weeks.” She drew a letter from her 
dress-waist and handed it to him. “ Read this, dear, and 
tell me what you think of it.” Wondering, March took it 
and read: — 

Hawking Valley, North Carolina, 
April 15, 1897. 

My dear Mrs. Blossom, — Just a year ago to-day I sent my 
one child to you, trusting the judgment of my dear friend, Doctor 
Heath, in a matter which he felt concerned the future welfare 
of my daughter. My home has been very lonely without her. 
You, as a parent, can know something of what this separation 
has entailed. 

It seemed wise to me, and I know you concurred in my opinion, 
to take her away from the conditions, in which she has thriven 
so wonderfully, while you were burdened, both in heart and 
hands, by such a critical illness as your son’s. The result con¬ 
firms the wisdom of my action, for March’s convalescence has 
been slow and long; I am thankful to be assured it is sure. The 
burden of an extra member in your family at this time would, in 
the long run, prove too heavy for you. 

I cannot tell you how I appreciate what you have done for 
Hazel. I have no words to express it. She returns to me full 
of life and joy, with no apparent unwillingness to take up her 
life again with me, which must seem dull to her in contrast to 
that which she had with you. Yet I know in her loyal little heart 
she belongs to you, is a part of your family henceforth — and I 
am glad to know it is so, for she needs, and will need, as a young 
girl, your motherly influence at all times. 

I’m not taking her away from you for good. Oh, no! That 
would be her loss as well as mine; but I am testing her a little. 
I have said I had no words with which adequately to express 
my gratitude. I am your debtor for my child’s physical well¬ 
being — for much else which I do not find it easy to define. Will 
you allow me to make some compensation for your year of devo¬ 
tion? I do not care what form it take, providing you will permit 
me to try to discharge something of the debt — the whole can 
never be repaid. Will you not let me send that splendid son of 
yours through college? and give him two years of Europe after- 


208 A Daughter of the Rich 

wards? That future profession of his has always been of great 
interest to me. If the boy is too proud, as I suspect is the case, 
to accept the necessary amount other than as a loan, make it plain 
to him that I will even yield a point there — a pretty bad state of 
affairs for me as a debtor to find myself in. If he won’t do this 
for me — won’t Rose help me out by permitting me to aid her in 
cultivating that voice of hers? I know your magnanimity, and 
depend upon you to help me in this. 

Hazel does not know I am writing to you, or she would send 
loving messages. 

My kindest regards to Mr. Blossom, with hearty congratulations 
for March, and all sorts of neighborly remembrances for all others 
of the Lost Nation. 

Sincerely your friend, 

John Curtis Clyde. 

To Mrs. Benjamin Blossom. 

“ Oh, mother! ” 

A wave of crimson surged into March’s pale face, and 
the sensitive nostrils quivered; then two big drops plashed 
down upon the letter which he handed to his mother. 

“ Oh, mother! if only I could— but I can’t! ” 

He rolled over on the soft pasture turf, face downwards, 
his head resting on his arms. 

“ Why, March dear,” said his mother, tenderly, “why 
can’t you? I think it’s beautiful, so does father.” 

A sob shook the long, thin frame. His mother laid her 
hand on the back of the yellow head. “ What is it, my dear 
boy ? Can’t you tell me ? ” 

The head shook energetically beneath her hand, and 
muffled words issued from the grass. 

“ But, March, we thought it would please you to have 
such an opportunity. You have read what Mr. Clyde says 
— you can look upon it as a loan. I hope you won’t have 
any false pride in this matter —• ” 

“ ’T isn’t false, mother,” came forth from the grass, “ and 
I would like to accept his offer, if only it weren’t just his.” 

“ Why not his, March ? Surely, Hazel has been like one 


A Daughter of the Rich 209 

of us — a real little sister — ” Another vigorous wagging 
of the yellow head arrested his mother in the midst of her 
sentence. 

“ Hazel isn't my sister." 

“ Why, of course, you can’t feel as near to her as to 
Rose, but then, you must see how dear she has become to 
us all — and Mr. Clyde has put it in such a way, that the 
most sensitive person could accept it without injury to any 
feeling of true pride. Take time and think it over, March. 
It has come upon you rather suddenly, and I have been 
thinking about it for two weeks." 

“ It’s no use to think it over." Deep tragedy now made 
itself audible, as March rolled over and sat up, displaying 
eyes bright with excitement, flushed cheeks, and a generally 
determined air of having it out with himself. 

“ Well, I can’t understand you, March." 

“ I wish you could." 

His mother smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. 
“ Can’t you tell me ? or give me some clue to this mysterious 
determination of yours ? " 

March cast a despairing glance at his mother. “ Mother, 
will you promise never to tell? ’’ 

“ Not even your father, March? ’’ 

“ No, father, nor any one — ever, mother." 

“ Very well; I promise, March, for I trust you." 

“ Oh, mother, haven’t you seen ? — don’t you know, that 
X — that I love Hazel! And how can I take the money from 
her father, when I’m going to try to make her love me and 
marry me sometime, when I get through studying, and — 
and — Oh, don’t you see ? ’’ 

And Mrs. Blossom did see — at last. 

She spoke very gently, after a minute’s silence, in which 
March’s ears burned red to their tips, and his fingers were 


210 


A Daughter of the Rich 

busy digging up a tiny strawberry-plant by the roots. “ My 
son, I see, and I honor you for feeling as you do; but, March, 
have you thought of the difference between you and Hazel? ” 

“ What difference, mother? ” 

Now Mary Blossom was not a worldly woman, neither 
was she a woman of the world — and she found it difficult 
to answer. 

“ You know how Hazel is placed in life, although you 
do not know with what luxury she is surrounded in her 
home. She has beauty, a large circle of friends, immense 
wealth. There will be many who will seek her hand in 
four years’ time, for she has a wonderful charm of her own, 
for all who come close to her. — Is it worth while to attempt, 
even, to win this little daughter of the rich? You, a poor 
boy, with his way to make ? ” 

“ But, mother,” — there was strong protest in the voice 
— “ she didn’t have any beauty till she came up here to us — 
and if she was a rich girl, she wasn’t a healthy one till she 
lived up here, and I don’t see the good of money and a lot 
of things, if you’re sick, and homely, too.” March waxed 
eloquent in his desire to convince his mother of the justice 
of his cause. “ And if she hadn’t come up here she wouldn’t 
have got well, and then she wouldn’t have grown so beauti¬ 
ful— and she is beautiful, mother.” (Mrs. Blossom 
nodded assent.) “ And I don’t see why I haven’t just as 
much right to try to make her love me as any other fellow. 
You’ve told us children, dozens of times, it’s just character 
that counts, and not money, and if I try as hard as I can to 
keep straight and be a good man like father, I don’t see why 
things wouldn’t be all right in the end.” 

Mrs. Blossom was silenced, — “ hoist with her own pe¬ 
tard.” “ How can I destroy this lovely, young ideal ? I dare 
not,” was her thought. But aloud, she said:— “ You’re 


211 


A Daughter of the Rich 

right, March. Nothing but character counts. Make your¬ 
self worthy of this little love of yours. We’ll keep this in 
our own hearts, and when you are tempted to wrong-doing 

— and there are fearful temptations for every young man 
to meet, March, — temptations of which you can form no 
conception here in the shelter of your home — just remem¬ 
ber this little talk of ours, and keep yourself unspotted by 
the world just by the thought of this dear girl whom you 
hope some day to win. There is nothing, March, that will 
keep a young man in the right way like his love for just ‘ the 
one girl in the world ’ — if only she be worthy of his love. 
And I think Hazel will be — even of you.” 

March flung his arms about her neck and kissed her 
heartily: 

“ Dear, little Mother Blossom, I’ll try, and even if I fail, 
just the thought of such a glorious-filorious mother that 
doesn’t laugh at a fellow — I was afraid you would, though, 

— will keep me straight enough. Why, Mother Blossom! 
I’d be ashamed to look you in the eyes, if I did a downright 
mean thing.” 

His mother laughed through her tears. “ I wonder if 
many mothers get such a compliment? Come, dear, the 
dew is beginning to fall — it’s been such a heavenly day, I 
had forgotten it is early spring. Do you feel chilly?” 

“ Not I ” laughed March, and proceeded to relieve his 
feelings after his favorite method — by turning a double- 
back somersault down the pasture slope. 

As Mrs. Blossom leaned over to kiss tired, sleepy Budd 
that night, she thought complacently to herself: — 

“ Well, thank fortune, here’s one who is heart-free,” and 
laughed softly to herself. Chi had not told her of Budd’s 
proposal. 


212 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Wilkins, tell Miss Hazel to come down into the library 
when she is dressed for dinner.” 

“ Yes, Marse Clyde.” Wilkins sprang upstairs two steps 
at a time, and, knocking at Hazel’s door, delivered his mes¬ 
sage. 

“ Tell papa I’m going to dress early, for I’ve some things 
to attend to about the table, Wilkins.” 

“ Fo’ sho’, Miss Hazel,” said Wilkins, with a broad smile 
of delighted surprise. 

“ And tell Mrs. Scott I’ll choose the service, if she will 
take out the linen, and I have ordered the flowers. Papa 
said I might.” 

Wilkins skipped downstairs, delivered his message to the 
amazed housekeeper, and then flew into the kitchen to im¬ 
part his news to the cook, his confidante and co-worker for 
years in the Clyde household. 

Minna-Lu was preparing a confection, and giving her 
whole soul to the making, when Wilkins made his appear¬ 
ance. She looked up grimly, the ebony of her countenance 
shining beneath the immaculate white of her turban: — 

“Wa’ fo’ yo’ hyar?” 

Wilkins slapped both knees with the palms of his hands, 
and bent nearly double with noiseless laughter; then, 
straightening himself, approached Minna-Lu with boldness 
despite the repelling wave of the cream-whip that she held 
suspended over the bowl, and confided to her the change of 
regime, to her edification and delight. 

She put down the bowl and whip, stemmed her fists on 
her broad hips, and gurgled long and low. “ ’F little missus 
done take rale hoi’ er de reins, dere ain’t no kin’ er show fo’ 
sech po’ trash.” She indicated with an upward movement of 
her thumb the upper regions where the housekeeper was 
supposed to be. 


A Daughter of the Rich 213 

“ When I wan’s a missus, I wan’s quality folks, an’ little 
missus do take de cake. Nebber see sech er chile. Dem 
great, shinin’ eyes, lookin’ at yo’ out o’ all de do’s, an’ dat 
laff soun’in’ jes’ like de ol’ mocker dat nebber knowed 
nuffin’ ’bout bedtime — yo’ recollecks?” Wilkins nodded 
emphatically, but was unprepared for Minna-Lu’s next 
move: — 

“ Git out o’ hyar, yo’ good-fo’-nuffin’ niggah. Huccome 
yo’ stan’in’ roun’ wif yo’ legs stiffer ’n de whites er dese 
yer eggs, an’ yo’ jaw goin’ like de egg-beatah, an’ de com- 
p’ny cornin’ at rale sharp eight.” Minna-Lu took up her 
bowl, and Wilkins beat a hasty retreat. 

It was a warm first of May, and just about the hour 
when March and his mother were leaving the Wishing-Tree, 
that Hazel apeared in the dining-room. Wilkins gazed at 
her in a species of adoration. Her orders appeared to him 
revolutionary, but he obeyed them implicitly and unhesitat¬ 
ingly. 

“ Take off the candelabra, Wilkins, it is too warm to-night 
to have them on; besides, people don’t have a nice time 
talking when they have to peek around them to get a glimpse 
of the people they’re talking to.” Wilkins whisked off the 
candelabra as if they had been made of thistledown. 

“ Dat’s so, fo’ sho’, Miss Hazel. I see de folks doan’ 
talk when dey ain’ comf’ble; but I neber tink ob de can’les.” 

“ When it’s dark you can light all the sconces. I want you 
to use the pale green, Bohemian dinner set to-night; and I 
want just as little silver as possible.” 

Wilkins looked blank, and Hazel laughed. “ Oh, we’ll 
make it up with some cut glass, I’ll manage it. I want the 
table to look cool and simple, just to-night.” 

Cool and simple. Wilkins failed to comprehend it, but 
such was his faith in “ little Missy,” that he carried out her 


214 A Daughter of the Rich 

orders to the letter, and the result was, according to Mrs. 
Fenlick, “ a dream of beauty.” 

When she had made her preparations to her entire satis¬ 
faction, as well as Wilkins’s, and the latter had called Minna- 
Lu from her culinary tug-of-war to witness “ little Missy’s ” 
triumph, Hazel ran into the library. 

Her father looked at her in amazement. Could this 
radiant, young girl be the same Hazel of a year ago? They 
had gone directly to North Carolina when Hazel had left 
Mount Hunger, and had been at home but two days. This 
little dinner was given to Mr. Clyde’s intimate friends as 
an informal celebration and recognition of his daughter’s 
return to the New York house. 

Now, as she ran into the room and linked her arm in his, 
her father looked down upon her with such evident pride 
and love, that Hazel laughed joyfully, laid her cheek against 
his coat-sleeve and patted his hand. 

“ Do I look nice, Papa Clyde ? ” 

“Nice! that’s no word for it, Birdie.” And thereupon 
he took her in his arms and gave her such a hug and a 
kiss, that the pretty dress must have suffered if it had not 
been made of the softest of white China-silk. 

“ Oh, my flowers! you’ll crush them! ” she cried, shield¬ 
ing with both hands a bunch of flowers at her belt. 

“ Where did you get all this — this style, daughter mine ? 
It’s — why, you’re nothing but a little girl, but it’s 4 chic.’ ” 

Hazel enjoyed her father’s admiration to the full. She 
drew herself up, straight and tall, graceful and slender — 
her head was already above his shoulder — exclaiming: — 

“ Little girl! Well, your little girl designed this gown 
herself. I wouldn’t have any fuss or frills about it; it’s just 
plain and full and soft and clingy, and this sash of soft silk 
— isn’t it a pretty, pale green ? — feel — ” She caught up a 


A Daughter of the Rich 215 

handful of the delicate fabric and crushed it in her hand, 
then smoothed it again, and it showed no wrinkles. “ I’ve 
put it on to match the dinner. I’ve had it all my own way 
— Wilkins did just as I said — and it’s all cool and green 
and springy. You’ll see.” 

“ Where did you get these flowers? ” Mr. Clyde touched 
the bunch of arbutus, that showed so delicately pink and 
white against the white of her dress and the green of her 
sash. 

A wave of beautiful color shot up to the roots of the 
little crinkles of chestnut hair on her temples; she touched 
the blossoms caressingly. “ I wrote March about this 
dinner-party, and how it was the first at which I had been 
hostess, and he wrote back and wanted to know what I 
was going to wear, and I told him — and this morning these 
lovely things came by mail all done up in cotton wool in a 
tin cracker-box, the kind Chi uses to put his worm-bait in, 
when he goes fishing. Aren’t they lovely? And wasn’t 
March lovely to think of them, papa ? ” 

“ They aren’t half as lovely as you are,” said Mr. Clyde, 
earnestly, replying to half of her question only. “ You 
are my unspoiled Hazel-blossom — ” Then a sudden, in¬ 
trusive thought caught and arrested his words. “ Hazel 
Blossom,” he repeated to himself, looking at her unconscious 
face as he uttered the last word, “ Good heavens! Could 
such a thing be ? ” 

“ De Cun’le an’ Mrs. Fenlick,” announced Wilkins. 

And when they were all seated at the table — the Colonel 
and Mrs. Fenlick, Doctor and Mrs, Heath, Aunt Carrie and 
Uncle Jo, the Masons and the Pearsells — with no candel¬ 
abra to interfere with the merry speech and glances, with 
the light from the candles in the sconces shining softly in 
the exquisite napery, on the low bed of white tulips in the 


2l6 


A Daughter of the Rich 

centre and the grace of the pale, green porcelain, with the 
tall Bohemian Romer-glasses before the plates — what won¬ 
der that Mrs. Fenlick pronounced it a “ dream of beauty ” ? 

When their guests had gone, Mr. Clyde turned to Hazel: 

— “I shall be glad to open the Newport cottage again, 
Birdie, with such a little hostess to help me entertain.” 

“ The Newport house, papa! ” Hazel exclaimed, a dis¬ 
tinct note of disappointment sounding in her voice. 

“Why not, dear? I thought of getting down there by 
the tenth; in fact, gave my orders to Mrs. Scott to begin 
packing to-morrow.” 

Hazel was evidently struggling with herself. She fin¬ 
gered the arbutus nervously; took them out of her belt; in¬ 
haled their fragrance. Then she looked up with a smile, al¬ 
though the corners of her mouth drooped and trembled a 
little: — 

“Why, of course, why not, papa? It's so much pleas¬ 
anter there in May, than when everybody is down for the 
summer.” 

Her father sat down in an easy-chair, put an arm around 
his daughter, and drew her down to a seat on the arm of 
the chair. 

“ Now, Hazel, I want you to tell me all about it. Don’t 
you want to go ? ” 

“Yes, if you’re there, papa, but—” she turned sud¬ 
denly and her arm stole around his neck — “ don’t leave me 
there alone, papa, please don’t.” 

“ Leave you — I ? Why what do you mean, dear ? ” 

“ Oh, it is so lonesome when you are away, papa, when 
you go off yachting with the Colonel — and the house is so 
big, and there’s nobody to talk to and say good-night to 

— and — and, oh, dear! ” The tears began to come, but 
she struggled bravely for a few minutes. 


A Daughter of the Rich 217 

“ Why, little girl, you have never told me you were lone¬ 
some without me: indeed, you have never shown any sign 
of it, or of wanting me around much. I ijever thought — 
why, Hazel.” Down went the curly head on his shoulder, 
and the sobs grew loud and frequent. 

“ There, there, Birdie,” he said soothingly, stroking her 
head, “ you’re all tired out; this party has been too much 
for you — ” 

An energetic, protesting head-shake was followed by 
broken sentences — “ It wasn’t that — I’m not tired — you 
don’t know, papa — I didn’t know — know I was lonesome, 
and that I was — I think I was homesick — dreadfully —- 
but Barbara Frietchie, you know — I had to be brave — and, 
I have tried not to show it to make you feel unhappy — 
and I love you so! but, oh, dear! I miss them so dreadfully, 
and I hoped — I was a member of the N. B. — B. O. — O., 
Oh — dear me, — Society, and the by-law says — I mean 
March read it — Oh, papa! ” 

“ Well, well, there, there, dear,” said the somewhat mysti¬ 
fied father, bending all his efforts to soothe this evidently 
perturbed spirit, “why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“ Because I was Barbara Frietchie.” 

“ Now, Hazel, sit up and look me in the face and tell me 
what you mean. I supposed I was holding Hazel Clyde in 
my arms and not old Barbara Frietchie. Please explain.” 

“ I thought I wrote you, papa,” Hazel could not help 
smiling through her tears, for it did strike her as rather 
funny about papa’s holding the patriotic, old lady in his 
arms. 

“ Well, you didn’t tell me that.” So Hazel explained. 

Mr. Clyde nodded approval. “ Very good, I approve of 
the N. B. B. O. O. Society, and of the present Barbara 
Frietchie’s heroism — but no more of it is called for. You 


218 


A Daughter of the Rich 

see, I fully intended you should pay your friends — my 
friends — a visit this summer, but I thought it would be 
much better later in the season when Mrs. Blossom would 
be rested from the fatigue of March’s illness — ” 

“ Oh, papa! ” A squeeze effectually impeded further 
utterance. “ I don’t care how soon we go to Newport, or 
anywhere — of course, if you are with me — as long as I 
can go to Mount Hunger sometime this summer. And, be¬ 
sides,” she added eagerly, “ we planned next winter’s visit 
from Rose, didn’t we? ” 

“ I should rather think we did. We shall be very proud 
of our beautiful friend, Rose, and delighted to have our 
friends meet her, shan’t we? ” Another squeeze precluded, 
for the moment, articulate speech. 

“ Yes,” Hazel cried, enthusiastically, “ we’ll take her to 
concerts and operas — just think, papa, with that lovely 
voice she has never heard a concert! — and we’ll take her to 
the theatre and — ” 

“ And,” her father went on, growing enthusiastic himself 
at the prospect, for he was the soul of hospitality, “ and we’ll 
give her a dainty dinner or two, and possibly a little dance — 
few and early, you know —” 

“ Oh — ee! ” cried Hazel, forgetting her woe, “ and Mrs. 
Heath will give a lunch-party for her, and, perhaps, Aunt 
Carrie a tea, and Mrs. Fenlick a reception — ” 

“ Heavens! ” interrupted her father, “ you’ll kill her with 
kindness — that fresh, wild rose can’t stand all that —” 

“ Oh, yes, she can, papa; she can stand that just as well 
as I stood going up there where everything was so different.” 

“ True,” said Mr. Clyde, thoughtfully, “ it was different.” 

“ Oh, it was, papa! I never had to go to bed alone. Mrs. 
Blossom always came to say good-night and to kiss me, and 
to — to — ” 


219 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ To what? ” asked her father. 

“ You won’t mind if I tell you? ” Hazel asked, half-shyly. 

“ Mind! I should say not; I should mind if you didn’t 
tell me.” 

“ — to say 4 Our Father’ with me, papa; you know no 
one ever said it with me before, and it’s — it’s such a comfy 
time to feel sorry and talk over what you’ve done wrong; 
and it’s that I miss so.” 

“ I don’t blame you, Birdie,” said her father, quietly. 
“ But now see how late it is! ” — he pointed to the clock — 
“ Eleven! This will never do for a debutante. Good-night, 
darling. Sweet dreams of Rose and the N. B. B. O. O. 
Society.” 

“ Good-night, Papa Clyde; Doctor Heath says you are the 
most splendid fellow in the world — but I know you are the 
dearest father in the world; good-night, I’ve had a lovely 
party.” 

She ran upstairs, but, in a moment, her father heard her 
tripping down again. Her head parted the portieres. “ I 
just came back to tell you, that this kind of a talk we’ve 
had is just as good as the Mount Hunger bedtime-talks. I 
shan’t be homesick any more.” And away she ran. 

Now John Curtis Clyde was a pew-owner — as had been 
his father and grandfather before him — in one of the Fifth 
Avenue churches, and duly made his appearance in that pew 
every Sunday morning. He entered, too, into the service 
with hearty voice, and made his responses without, the while, 
giving undue thought to the world. But when he had said 
“ Our Father ” with his little daughter by his side, he had 
supposed his duty performed to the extent of his needs — 
of another’s, his child’s, he gave no thought. 

To-night, however, as he sat in the easy-chair where Hazel 


220 


A Daughter of the Rich 

had left him, it began to dawn upon him slowly that his 
little daughter, during her fourteen years, might have had 
other needs, for which he had not provided, nor, perhaps, 
with all his riches was capable of providing. 

The clock chimed twelve, — one, — two—; John Clyde, 
with a sigh, rose and went up to bed — a wiser and a better 
man. 


XXII 


ROSE 

What a summer that was! Mr. Clyde sent Hazel up to 
the Blossoms for July and again for September, when he, 
the Colonel and Mrs. Fenlick, the Pearsells and the Masons, 
Aunt Carrie and Uncle Jo took possession of the entire inn 
at Barton’s River, and for a month coached and rode 
throughout the “ North Country,” all in the cool September 
weather. Jack Sherrill joined them for the last three weeks, 
and, this time, Maude Seaton was not of the party. 

“ I just headed her off every time she made a dead set at 
any one of us for an invitation,” said Mrs. Fenlick one day 
in confidence to her intimate, Mrs. Pearsell, as they sat on 
the vine-covered veranda of the inn, “ but she proved a regu¬ 
lar octopus. She got the Colonel in her toils one morning 
at the Casino, and I pretended to be faint — yes, I did — 
just to get his attention for a sufficient time to make a fuss, 
and get him alone in the carriage; then, of course, I settled 
it. Oh, dear! men are so guileless in spots! ” — Mrs. Fen¬ 
lick gave a weary sigh — “ What I haven’t been through 
with that girl! Anyway she’s been out two winters, now, 
and she hasn’t caught Jack Sherrill yet. I don’t think there 
is much chance after the first season for a girl to make a 
really fine match, do you? ” Then they fell to discussing the 
pros, and cons, on the question with evergreen interest. 

Jack Sherrill, for one, had no thought of Miss Seaton. 
He had sent the valentine-flowers, and the sentiment from 


222 


A Daughter of the Rich 

Barry Cornwall’s love-song, with a strange kind of “kill 
or cure ” feeling. 

He had communed with himself, at twilight of one Feb¬ 
ruary day, as he lay at full length on the cushioned window- 
seat of his room from which he looked down upon the dark¬ 
ening, snow-covered campus and the anatomy of the elms 
showing black against it. His pine had gone out, but he 
derived some satisfaction in pulling away at it mechanically, 
while he thought out the situation for himself. 

“ What’s the use of a man’s hanging fire when he 
knows?” he thought. “Now, I love her — love her.” 
(Jack’s hand stole into the breast of his jacket and crushed 
a bit of paper there; he smiled.) “ Of course she doesn’t 
know, and won’t know for a while, but it shan’t be through 
any neglect of mine that she doesn’t; and when she knows — 
there’s the rub! — will she care for me, Jack Sherrill ? I’ve 
never done anything in my life to make a girl like that care 
for me. 

“ But there’s one thing I’d stake my life on — she 
wouldn’t marry a man for his money. A man’s got to be 
loved for himself — not for what he can give a woman, or 
do for her, but just for himself, if it’s going to be the 
real thing, and last. And what am I that a girl like that 
should love me — ” Jack was growing very humble. He 
pulled himself together: “ Anyhow, I’ll send the flowers and 
the sentiment, I mean it; I don’t care what she thinks! ” 
Jack’s courage rose as he began to feel something like defi¬ 
ance of Fate. 

Just then his chum came in. 

“ There’s no use, Sherrill,” he said, flinging himself down 
upon the cushioned seat Jack had just vacated; “we can’t 
have the theatricals unless you take the girl’s part. It won’t 
put you out any — smooth face and no scrub. You’ve been 


A Daughter of the Rich 223 

it once, and it will be a dead failure if you aren’t in it now.” 

“ I don’t see how I can,” replied Jack, shortly, for this 
intrusion on his mood irritated him. “ I told you, all of 
you, at the Club last year, that I wouldn’t play after I was 
a Junior.” 

“Well, what if you did?” rejoined his chum, a little 
crossly. “ You’re not so uncompromisingly steadfast in 
other things that you can’t afford to change your mind in 
such a trifle as this.” 

“ Come, don’t be touchy,” said Jack, good-humoredly. 
“ Hit right out from the shoulder, old man, and tell me 
what you mean.” 

Dawns smiled, clasped his hands under his head, and 
raised his merry blue eyes to Jack, who was lighting up. 

“ They say over at the Club that you have thrown Maude 
Seaton over, but Grayson took up the Seaton cudgels and 
made the statement that she had thrown you over, and you 
won’t take the girl’s part in the play because she is coming on 
for it.” 

Jack hesitated. He hated to play at any comedy of love 
when his heart was throbbing with the genuine article. But, 
after all, it might be the best way to silence the Club’s 
tongues as well as some others in Boston and New York. 

“ I’ll help you out this once, Dawns, but I tell you plainly 
I won’t have anything more to do with the Club theatricals 
while I’m in college,” he replied, ignoring both of Dawns’ 
statements, which omissions his chum noticed, and made 
his own thoughts: “ Just like Sherrill. You can’t get any 
hold of him to know what he really feels and thinks.” 

Jack played his part accordingly, repeating the success of 
the year before, and scoring new triumphs. He was glad 
when it was over, and he could go back to his room “ dead 
tired,” as he said to himself, but with the conviction that he 


224 A Daughter of the Rich 

had settled matters to his own satisfaction if not to that 
of one other. 

The room was in such disorder! Evidently, Dawns had 
been having a little spree before Jack’s late return, and the 
smoke had left the air heavy. 

Jack dropped his paraphernalia in the middle of the floor 
— peeling himself as he stood yawning and thanking his 
lucky star that he was not born a woman to be handicapped 
by such things! — decollete white satin waist, long-trained 
satin gown, necklace — Jack gave the string a twitch, for 
it had knotted, and the Roman pearls rolled into unreachable 
places all over the floor. Off flew one white satin slipper — 
number ten, broad at the toes! — with a fine “ drop kick ” 
hitting the ceiling and landing on the book-shelves; the other 
followed suit. White fan with chain, white elbow gloves, 
corsage bouquet — all dropped in a promiscuous heap. A 
general stampede loosened silk under-skirt and dainty muslin 
petticoat, lace-trimmed. A wrench, — corset-cover and 
corsets were torn from their moorings. Jack groaned — or 
something worse — at the flummery, and, leaving every¬ 
thing as it had dropped, rushed off into his bedroom, only 
to find that he had forgotten to take off the blonde wig and 
wash off the rouge. 

At last, however, he was asleep, and slept the sleep of the 
justified. 

He slept both soundly and late, but when he awoke the 
next morning his first thought was of the flowers for Mount 
Hunger and the appropriate sentiment. Accordingly, hav¬ 
ing recokoned the arrival of train, departure of stage, etc., 
to a minute, he selected the flowers, wrote the sentiment, not 
without forebodings of the usual kind, and despatched both 
to Mount Hunger with high hopes, notwithstanding prescient 
feelings. Then, metaphorically, he sat down to await an 


A Daughter of the Rich 225 

answer. He waited just two months, and during that time 
had turned emotionally black and blue more than once at the 
thought of his temerity in sending such a message. 

Hazel had written him at once from North Carolina to 
tell him of March’s illness, and on the same day she sent a 
penitent note to Rose, confessing her shame at her attempt 
at deception, and explaining that it was because she loved 
her cousin so dearly she could not bear to see his gift 
slighted. 

When March was out of danger, Rose had written to 
Hazel a frank, loving letter, blaming herself for her want of 
self-control, and begging Hazel’s forgiveness for her harsh 
words: 

“It’s all my old pride, Hazel dear,” she wrote, “that I have 
to fight very often. It was most kind of Mr. Sherrill to remem¬ 
ber me when he has so many, many other friends whom he has 
known longer, and I shall write and tell him so. Now that my 
heart is lighter on account of dear March, I can write more 
easily. 

“We miss you so! when are you coming back to us? Chi 
looks perfectly disconsolate, and we all feel a great deal more 
than we care to say. 

“ I wish you were here to have the fun of the French even¬ 
ings, three times a week. You speak it so beautifully, Mr. Ford 
says, and I thank you so much for all the help you gave me in 
teaching me. Mr. Ford speaks it very well, too, so Miss Alton 
says. We all meet at our house once a week on March’s account, 
and then one evening in the week, Miss Alton and I (she’s lovely) 
go over to the Fords’ for music. He has sent for some lovely 
songs for me — old English ones, and we’re going to have a little 
celebration for March’s birthday in May. How I wish you were 
to be here! 

“March is lying on the settle, dreaming over that exquisite 
photograph of Cologne Cathedral you sent him; I’ve just asked 
him if he had any messages for you, and he smiled —oh, it’s so 
good to see his dear smile again! You can’t think how tall he’s 
grown since his illness, and he’s so thin — and said, I sent one 
to her this morning myself; she can’t have two a day.’ But you 
know March’s ways. 


226 A Daughter of the Rich 

“Now I must stop; Mr. Ford is coming over on horse-back 
and I am riding Bob now. I wear an old riding-habit of Martie’s 
— it fits fine! I have more to tell you, but will finish after I get 
back from the ride — there comes Mr. Ford — ” 

This letter Hazel duly forwarded to her cousin. “ He’ll 
know by what she says in it that she really was pleased, for 
all she acted so queer,” she said to herself as she enclosed it 
in one to Jack, in which she took special pains to inform him 
that he had never told her whether he had given those verses 
Rose sang to Miss Seaton. 

“ I told Rose I was sure they were for Miss Seaton, and Rose 
said she didn’t mind copying them herself for you if you wished 
them. Do tell me if you gave them to her. I told Rose your 
valentine to her last year was a rose-heart. I hope you don’t 
mind my telling, for, you know, Jack, all our family think you 
are engaged to her — ” 

Jack dropped Hazel’s letter at this point and gave a de¬ 
cided groan. 

“ What luck! ” he muttered. “ It’s all up with the whole 
thing now. No girl of any spirit would stand all that — 
and Hazel meddling so! thinking she is doing her level best 
to explain matters; — What an ass I was to send that 
flower-valentine to Maude — and she thinks I gave her those 
verses! and there’s this Ford skulking round and having it 
all his own way; he’s just the kind a girl would care for — 
those musical cranks are no end sentimental. Hang it all! ” 

Jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, took several 
decided turns up and down the room, squared his shoulders, 
pursed his lips, cut his two classroom lectures, ordered up 
Little Shaver and rode out to the polo grounds, where, find¬ 
ing himself alone, he put the little fellow through his best 
paces, ignoring the fact that snow and ice wore on the pony’s 
nerves — and had a game out to himself. 


A Daughter of the Rich 22J 

When just two months had passed, he received a note 
from Rose, his first, and it was accorded the reception due 
to first notes in particular. After this, Jack developed cer¬ 
tain wiles of diplomacy, he had thus far, in his various ex¬ 
periences, held in abeyance. He wrote sympathetic notes to 
Mrs. Blossom; commissioned Chi to find him another polo 
pony — Morgan, if possible — among the Green Hills; sent 
March a set of illustrated books on architecture, and com¬ 
plained to Doctor Heath of a pain that racked his chest; at 
which the Doctor’s eyes twinkled. He said he would ex¬ 
amine him later, but he was convinced it was heart trouble, 
the symptoms were apt to mislead and confuse. He added 
gravely: “ Too much hard polo riding, Jack; get away into 
the country — mountains if you can, and you’ll recuperate 
fast enough. I’ll make an examination in the fall.” 

Jack obeyed to the letter, and what a month of September 
that was! 

There were glorious rides with Rose along the beautiful 
river valley and over the mountain roads. There were de¬ 
lightful evenings at the Fords’, and silent, beatific walks with 
Rose homewards beneath the harvest moon. There were 
morning rambles with Rose up over the pastures and deep 
into the woodlands for late ferns and hooded gentians. 
There were adorable hours of doing nothing but adore, while 
Rose was busy about her work, setting the table for tea. 
(Jack paid his board at the inn, but he lived at the Blos¬ 
soms’), or laying the cloth for dinner, or on Saturday morn¬ 
ing even making rolls for the tea to which the whole party 
at the inn were invited. 

Chi was in his glory. Little Shaver came trotting regu¬ 
larly every day up through the woods’-road, and whinnied 
“ Good-morning ” first to Fleet, then to Chi. There were 
general coaching-parties to Woodstock and Brandon, in 


228 


A Daughter of the Rich 

which Mrs. Blossom was guest, and a grand tea at the 
Fords’ for all the guests, with a musicale for a finish, and 
an informal dance in the Blossoms’ barn to which all the 
Lost Nation were invited. 

They accepted, one and all. Captain Spillkins was in 
his element, so he said. He and Mrs. Fenlick danced a two- 
step in a manner to win the commendation of the entire 
assembly. Miss Elvira and Miss Melissa went through the 
square dance escorted by Jack and Uncle Jo. There were 
round dances and contra dances. Uncle Israel contributed 
an “ 1812 ” jig, and Mr. Clyde passed round the hat for 
his sole benefit. There were waltzes for those who could 
waltz, and polkas for those who could polka, and schottische 
and minuet. “ There never was such a dance since before 
the Deluge! ” declared Mrs. Fenlick, when Captain Spill- 
kins escorted her to a seat on a sap-bucket; and then they all 
went at it again in a grand finale, the Virginia Reel —• Chi 
and Hazel, Mr. Clyde and Aunt Tryphosa for head and foot 
couple; Maria-Ann with Jack; Alan Ford with Mrs. Fen¬ 
lick; the Colonel with Mrs. Blossom whom he admired 
greatly; March and Miss Alton — such a double row of 
them! 

Poor Reub sat in one of the empty stalls and watched the 
fun with slow, half-understanding smile, and Ruth Ford re¬ 
clined in a rocking-chair in the comer, and with merry 
laughter and sparkling wit soothed the dull ache in her 
heart that the knowledge that she was henceforth to be a 
“ Shut-out ” from all that life had at first given her. 

The next day after the dance there was a grand dinner 
given at the inn by the Newport party to all the Lost Nation ; 
and, later on, private entertainments for Mr. and Mrs. 
Blossom and the Fords. At last, when the first maple leaves 
crimsoned and the frost silvered the mullein leaves in the 


A Daughter of the Rich 229 

pasture, Hazel, her father, Jack, and their friends bade 
good-bye to the Mountain and all its joys of acquaintance, 
and in some cases, friendship, and turned their faces, not 
without reluctance on the part of some of them, city-wards. 

“ Oh, mother! hasn’t it been too beautiful for anything? ’* 
exclaimed Rose, turning to her mother, as the last of the 
riding-party waved his cap in farewell to those on the porch. 
It was Jack. 

“We have had a happy summer, Rose; — I think they 
have, too,” her mother added, shading her eyes from the 
setting sun. “You’ll be very lonely here at home, dear, 
after all this gayety.” 

“ Lonely! Why, Martie Blossom, how can you think 
of such a thing! ” said Rose, still scanning the lower road 
for a last glimpse of the riders. “ See, see, they are all wav¬ 
ing their handkerchiefs! ” 

The whole Blossom family laid hold of what they could 
— napkins, towels, a tablecloth, and Chi seized his shirt, 
which he had hung on the line to dry, and waved frantically 
until the party was no longer to be seen. 

“ Lonesome! the idea,” said Rose, turning to her mother. 
“ Think of all the studying March and I have to do, and 
the French evenings, and the Fords, and Thanksgiving com¬ 
ing, and then Christmas, and then — ” 

“ Then,” said Mrs. Blossom, interrupting her, “ my Rose 
takes a little plunge into that whirlpool of gay life and fash¬ 
ion in New York.” 

“ Yes,” said Rose, with a happy smile that spoke volumes 
to her mother, “ I do look forward to it, Martie dear; but 
the whirlpool shan’t suck me under; I shall come home just 
your old-fashioned Rose-pose.” 

“ I hope so, dear,” said her mother, a little wistfully, and 
called the children in to supper. 


230 A Daughter of the Rich 

Indeed, they found little opportunity to miss their friends 
in the ensuing months; for there came kindly letters, and 
friendly letters, and something very nearly resembling love- 
letters. The mail brought papers, books, and magazines. 
The express brought to Barton’s River many a box of lovely 
flowers. At Christmas came more than one remembrance 
for them all, including Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, and 
four special invitations for Rose to visit in New York di¬ 
rectly after the holidays. One was from Mr. Clyde — with 
an urgent request from Hazel to say “ yes ” by telegram 
and “relieve her misery,” so she put it—; one from Mrs. 
Heath; one from Aunt Carrie, and a gushingly cordial one 
from Mrs. Fenlick! Each claimed her for a month. But 
Mrs. Blossom shook her head. 

“ No, no, dear, you would wear your welcome out. I 
shall need you at home by the last of February. I think you 
can accept only Mr. Clyde’s and Mrs. Heath’s. You can 
accept social courtesies from the other four of course.” 

“ But, mother,” Rose’s face was the image of despair, 
“what shall I wear? Just hear what Hazel has planned — 

‘ lunches, dinners, theatre, concerts ’ — why! I can never 
go to all those things.” 

“ I’ve thought of that, too, Rose; but the little colt shan’t 
go bare this time — it will take some courage dear, to wear 
the same things over and over again, not to mention the 
puzzle of planning for it all.” 

“ I’m not ‘ Molly Stark ’ for nothing,” laughed Rose, and 
the two women began to plan for what Chi called “ Rose’s 
campaign.” The pretty white serge was lengthened and 
made over to appear more grown up, as Cherry put it; the 
dark blue wash silk — Hazel’s gift that had never been made 
up — was fashioned into a “ swell affair ” — so March pro¬ 
nounced it; the old-fashioned blue lawn was cut over into a 


A Daughter of the Rich 231 

dainty full waist, and then Mrs. Blossom added her surprise 
— a delicate blue taffeta skirt to match the waist. Rose went 
into raptures over it, and sought the best bedroom regularly 
three times a day to feast her girl’s eyes on the silken loveli¬ 
ness at it lay in state on the best bed. A new dark blue 
serge was to do duty for a street suit, with a plain felt hat. 
For best, there was a turban made of dark blue velvet ta 
match the wash silk. 

“And four pairs of gloves! Martie Blossom, you are 
an angel to give me these that Hazel gave you a year ago 
last Christmas. Have you been keeping them for me all 
this time ? ” 

Mrs. Blossom smiled assent, and was rewarded by a 
squeeze that interfered decidedly with her breathing appara¬ 
tus. 

The night before she left, Rose “ costumed ” for the bene¬ 
fit of the entire family, who were assembled in the long- 
room, together with Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann, to see 
Rose in her finery. 

“ I’ll make it a climax,” said Rose, laughing half-shame- 
facedly, as she slipped upstairs to change her street suit, 
which had brought forth admiring “ Ohs ” and “ Ahs ” 
from the children, and favorable criticism from their elders. 

Dbwn she came in her white serge; there were nods 
and smiles of approval. 

Her reappearance in the wash silk and velvet turban was 
the signal, on March’s part, for a burst of applause, and 
cries of admiration from Budd and Cherry. 

“ Grand transformation scene! ” cried March, as Rose 
tripped down in the blue taffeta, looking like a very rose 
herself. 

“Beats all!” murmured Chi, who had become nearly 
speechless with admiration, “ what clothes’ll do for a good- 


232 A Daughter of the Rich 

lookin’ woman; but for a ravin’, tearin’ beauty like our Rose 
— George Washin’ton! She’ll open those high-flyers’ eyes.” 

“ Cinderella — fifth act! ” shouted March as, after a 
prolonged wait, he heard Rose on the stairs. 

But was it Rose? 

The beautiful India mull of her mother’s had been trans¬ 
formed into a ball-dress. She had drawn on her long white 
gloves and tucked into the simple, ribbon belt three of 
Jack’s Christmas roses. 

Maria-Ann gasped, and that broke the, to Rose, some¬ 
what embarrassing silence. 

Marshalled by March, the whole family formed a proces¬ 
sion and Rose was reviewed: — back breadths, front 
breadths, flounces, waist, gloves; all were thoroughly in¬ 
spected. 

Chi touched the lower flounce of the half-train gingerly 
with one work-roughened forefinger, then, straightening 
himself suddenly, sighed heavily. 

“ What’s the matter, Chi ? ” Rose laughed at the dubious 
expression on his face. 

“ You ain’t Rose Blossom nor Molly Stark any longer. 
You’re just a regular Empress of Rooshy, ’n’ you don’t look 
like that girl I took along to sell berries down to Barton’s 
last summer, ’n’ I wish you — ” he hesitated. 

“ What, Chi ? ” said Rose. 

“ I wish you was back again, old sunbonnet, old calico 
gown, patched shoes ’n’ all — ” 

“Oh, Chi, no, you don’t,” said Rose, laughing merrily; 
“ you forget, I shall probably see Miss Seaton down there 
in New York, and you wouldn’t want me to appear a second 
time before her in that old rig.” 

“ You’re right, Rose-pose,” replied Chi, his expression 


A Daughter of the Rich 233 

brightening visibly. He drew close to her and whispered 
audibly: 

“ Just sail right in, Molly Stark, V cut that sassy girl out 
right ’n’ left. She never could hold a candle to you.” 

“ Sh-sh, Chi! ” said Mrs. Blossom, meaningly, but with a 
twinkle in her eye. 

“ I mean just what I say, Mis’ Blossom. Folks can’t 
come up here on this Mountain to sass us to our faces, ’n’ 
she did; — I’ve stayed riled ever since, ’n’ I hope she’ll get 
sassed back in a way that’ll make her hair stand just a little 
more on end than it did, when she gave that mean snickerin’ 
giggle — ” 

“ Chi, Chi,” Mrs. Blossom interrupted him in an appeas¬ 
ing tone. 

“ You needn’t Chi me, Mis’ Blossom. These children are 
just as near to me as if they was my own, ’n’ when they’re 
sassed, I’m sassed too; ’n’ my great-grandfather fought over 
at Ticonderogy, ’n’ I ain’t bound to take any more sass than 
he took — ” 

By this time the whole family were in fits of laughter over 
Chi’s persistent use of so much “ sass,” and, at last, Chi 
himself joined in the laugh at his excessive heat: — 

“ Over nothin’ but a wind-bag, after all,” he concluded. 

On the following morning, Mr. Blossom, Chi, March and 
Budd drove down to Barton’s to see Rose off. The old ap¬ 
ple-green pung had been fitted with two broad boards for 
seats, and covered with buffalo robes and horse blankets. 
There was just room in the tail for Rose’s old-fashioned 
trunk and a small strapped box, which held two dozen of 
new-laid eggs, six small, round cheeses, and a wreath of 
ground hemlock and bitter-sweet — a neighborly gift from 
Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann to Hazel and Mr. Clyde. 


234 A Daughter of the Rich 

As the train moved away from the station, Chi watched 
it with brimming eyes. 

“ She’ll never come back the same Rose-pose, livin’ among 
all those high-flyers — never,” he muttered to himself; but 
aloud he remarked, with forced cheerfulness, turning to Mr. 
Blossom while he dashed the blinding drops from his eyes 
with the back of his hand: 

“ Looks mighty like a thaw, Ben; kind of wets down, 
don’t it ? ” 

“ Yes, Chi,” said Mr. Blossom, busy with conquering his 
own heartache, “we’d better be getting on home;” and the 
masculine contingent of the Blossom household climbed into 
the pung and took their way homeward in silence. 

But what a reception that was for the transplanted Rose! 

Mr. Clyde met her at the Grand Central Station, and Rose 
felt how welcome she was just by the hand-clasp and his 
first words: 

“We have you at last, Rose; I wouldn’t let Hazel come 
because I thought the train might be late, and there’s a cold 
rain falling. Martin, take this box — ” 

“ Oh, no; I must carry that myself,” laughed Rose, look¬ 
ing up at the liveried footman with something like awe. “ I 
promised Aunt Tryphosa and Maria-Ann I wouldn’t let any 
one take them till they were safe in the house; thank you,” 
she bowed courteously to Martin, who confided to the coach¬ 
man so soon as they were on the box: “ Hi ’aven’t seen 
nothink so ’ansome since Hi’ve bean in the States.” 

As the brougham whirled into the Avenue, and the elec¬ 
tric lights shone full into the carriage, Rose could see the 
luxuriously upholstered interior, and a sudden thought of 
the old apple-green pung and the buffalo robes dimmed her 
eyes. But it was only for a moment; Mr. Clyde was telling 
her of Hazel’s impatience, and how the coachman had had 


A Daughter of the Rich 235 

special orders from her to hurry up so soon as he should be 
on the Avenue, and he had hardly finished before the coach¬ 
man drew rein, slackening his rapid pace as he turned a 
corner, Martin was opening the door, and Hazel’s voice was 
calling from a wide house entrance flooded with soft light: 

“ Oh, Rose, my Rose! Is it really you, at last? ” 

“ And this, I am sure, is Wilkins,” said Rose, when finally 
Hazel set her arms free. “ We’ve heard so much of you, 
that I feel as if I had known you a long time.” Rose held 
out her hand with such sincere cordiality that Wilkins’ 
speech was suddenly reduced to pantomime, and he could 
only extend his other hand rather helplessly towards the box 
that Rose still carried. But Rose refused to yield it up. 

“ Here, Hazel, I promised Maria-Ann and Aunt Try- 
phosa I wouldn’t give it into any hands but yours. Oh! be 
careful — they’re eggs! ” 

“ Eggs! ” repeated Hazel, laughing. “ Here, Wilkins, 
unstrap it for me, quick — Oh, papa, look! ” She held out 
the box to Mr. Clyde, and, somehow, John Curtis Clyde for 
a moment thought with Chi, that there was going to be a 
“ thaw.” Each egg was rolled in white cotton batting and 
wrapped in pink tissue paper. The six little cheeses were 
enclosed in tin-foil, and cheeses and eggs were embedded in 
the Christmas wreath. On a piece of pasteboard was writ¬ 
ten in unsteady characters: 

To Mr. John Curtis Clyde of New York City, with the season’s 
compliments. 

Mount Hunger, Vermont, January 6th, 1898. 

“ And you’ve had such lovely flowers come for you, five 
boxes of them, Rose, and piles of invitations. I’m sure 
you’re engaged up to Ash Wednesday.” 

“ Come, Chatterbox,” said her father, smiling at her 


236 A Daughter of the Rich 

volubility, “ Rose has just time to dress for dinner; you 
know Aunt Carrie and Uncle Jo are coming to-night.” 

“ Oh, I forgot all about them; you’ll have to hurry, Rose. 
Wilkins, bring up the flowers. Come on.” 

Hazel ran up the broad flight of stairs, carpeted with 
velvety crimson, to the first landing, from which, through 
a lofty arch in the hall, Rose caught a glimpse of softly 
lighted rooms, the walls enriched with engravings and etch¬ 
ings, with here and there a landscape or marine in water- 
colors. Rose drew a long breath. This, then, was what Chi 
meant when he said “ Hazel was rich as Croesus.” 

“ But, Hazel, my trunk hasn’t come,” said Rose, as she 
followed her hostess into the spacious bedroom, which was 
separated from Hazel’s only by a dressing-room. 

“ It’ll be here in a few minutes; papa has a special man, 
who always delivers them almost as soon as we get here.” 

Sure enough, the trunk came in time; and Rose, as she 
unpacked, finding evidences of the loving mother-care in 
every fold, cried within her heart, looking about at the ex¬ 
quisite appointments of her room and dress-room: 

“ Martie, Martie, what would all this be without you! — 
Oh, I know now, what dear old Chi meant when he said 
Hazel was poor where we are rich — only a housekeeper to 
see to all Hazel’s things — ” 

“Rose, what flowers are you going to wear?” called 
Hazel from her room. 

I haven t had time to look,” Rose called back, surveying 
her white serge with great satisfaction in the pier-glass. 

“ Do look, then, and see who they’re from.” 

“ Oh, Hazel, do come and see. How kind everybody has 
been! Here are cards from Mrs. Heath and Doctor 
Heath, and your Aunt Carrie, and Mr. Sherrill, and Mrs. 


A Daughter of the Rich 237 

Fenlick, and even that Mr. Grayson whp was up at our 
house to tea a year ago! ” 

“ They are lovely. Whose are you going to wear ? ” 

“ I’ll make up a bunch of one or two from each, that will 
show my appreciation of all their favors.” 

Hazel looked slightly crestfallen. “ I hoped you’d wear 
Jack’s — they’re the loveliest with white — ” she lifted the 
white lilacs — “ and they’re so rare just now. I heard Aunt 
Carrie say that one of the girls had put off her wedding for 
six weeks, just because she couldn’t have white lilacs for it.” 

“ They’ll last with care three days surely, and I can wear 
them to-morrow evening,” replied Rose, bending to inhale 
their delicate fragrance. 

“ So you can, for papa is going to give a dinner for you 
to-morrow night, and afterwards, he has promised to take 
you to a dance at Mrs. Pearsell’s. I can’t go, you know, for 
I’m not grown up; but you can tell me all about it. We’re 
going to have lots of fun this week, for school does not be¬ 
gin for several days. Come.” 

Together they went down to the drawing-room, and 
Wilkins announced that dinner was served. 

After it was over he sought Minna-Lu in her own 
domains, and gave vent to his long pent emotions. 

“Minna-Lu,” he whispered mysteriously, “ dere’s an out 
an’ out angel ben hubberin’ ’bout de table — ” 

“ Fo’ de Lawd! ” Minna-Lu turned upon him fiercely, 
for she was superstitious to the very marrow. “ Wa’ fo’ yo’ 
come hyar, skeerin’ de bref out a mah bones wif yo’ sp’r’ts! 
Yo’ go long home wha’ yo’ b’long.” 

But Wilkins was not to be repulsed in this manner. 
“ Nebber see sech ha’r, an’ jes’ lillum-white — ” 

“Oh, go ’long! Lillum-white ha’r,” interrupted Minna- 


238 A Daughter of the Rich 

Lu, with scathing sarcasm. “ Huccome yo’ know de angels 
hab lillum-white ha’r ? ” 

“ Huccome I know ? — ’Case I see de shine, jes’ lake yo’ 
see in de dror’n-room.” 

“ De shine ob lillum-white ha’r in de dror’n-room! ’Pears 
lake yo’ head struck ile — ” 

“ Yo’ hoi’ yo’ tongue, Minna-Lu,” retorted Wilkins, ir¬ 
ritated at the continued evidence of disbelief on the part of 
his coadjutor. “ Jes’ yo’ hide back ob de dumb-waitah to- 
morrah ebenin’ when de dessert comes on, an’ see fo* 
yo’se’f!” He departed in high dudgeon, and Minna-Lu 
gurgled long and low to herself, but, in her turn, was inter¬ 
rupted by the sound of tripping steps on the basement 
flight. 

Minna-Lu hastily put her fat hands up to her turban to 
see if it were on straight, and smoothed her apron, mutter¬ 
ing: 

“ Clar to goodness, ef it ain’t jes’ mah luck to hab little 
Missus come into dis yere hen-roost,” she rapidly surveyed 
her immaculate kitchen with anxious eye. 

“ Minna-Lu, this is my friend, Miss Rose; the one who 
did up those lovely preserves, and here are some new-laid 
eggs and some cheeses that Miss Maria-Ann Simmons — 
you know I told you all about her and the hens — has sent 
papa.” 

Minna-Lu gazed at Rose in open admiration. The faith¬ 
ful colored retainer had her thorny side and her blossom one. 

Rose put out her hand, and Minna-Lu took it in both hers. 
“ I’se mighty glad yo’ come, Miss Rose, dere ain’t no straw¬ 
berry-blossom nor no rose-blossom can hoi’ a can’le to yo’ 
own honey se’f. Dese yere cheeses is prime.” She examined 
one with the nose of a connoisseur. “ Jes’ fill de bill wif de 
salad-chips to-morrah.” She stemmed her fists on her hips, 


A Daughter of the Rich 239 

and her mellow, contented gurgle caused Rose and Hazel 
to laugh, too. 

“ What is it, Minna-Lu ? ” said Hazel, reading the signs 
of the times. 

“ Dat Wilkins done toF me to git back ob de dumb-waitah, 
to-morrah ebenin’ to see Missy Rose, but I’se gwine to ask 
rale straight to jes’ see her ’fo de comp’ny come.” 

“ Of course you may. Come up to my room about seven, 
and we’ll be ready.” 

“ Fo’ sho’,” said Minna-Lu, with beaming face. 

“ Good-night,” said Rose, beaming, too, for she found the 
black faces and ways irresistibly amusing. 

“ De Lawd bress yo’ lily face, Missy Rose.” 

When the two girls were alone, at last, in Hazel’s room, 
there was no thought of bed for an hour. There were num¬ 
berless questions on Hazel’s part concerning all the dear 
Mount Hunger people, and speechless astonishment on 
Rose's at the number of invitations that were waiting for 
her. They chatted all the time they were undressing, calling 
back and forth to each other as one thing or another sug¬ 
gested itself. Finally, Hazel made her appearance in Rose’s 
room. She went up to her, put her arms about her neck, 
and, looking up with eyes full of loving trust, said: 

“ Rose-pose, won’t you come into my room and say * Our 
Father ’ with me as Mother Blossom used to do on Mount 
Hunger? You can’t think how I miss it.” 

“ Why, Hazel darling, of course I will — then I shan’t 
feel homesick missing that precious Martie.” 

She followed Hazel into her room, and after she was in 
bed, Rose knelt by her side, and together they said, “ Our 
Father.” Then Rose bent over to receive Hazel’s loving 
kiss and whispered, “ Oh, Rose, I’m so happy to have you 


240 A Daughter of the Rich 

here,” and whispered back, “ And I’m so happy to be with 
you, Hazel — good-night.” 

“ Good-night.” 

Rose went back to her room. At last she was alone. 
She drew one of the easy-chairs up before the wood-fire that 
was dying down, put her bare feet on the warm fender, and, 
for a while, dreamed waking dreams. It was all so strange. 
The cathedral clock on the mantel chimed twelve. They 
were all asleep in the farmhouse on the Mountain — it was 
time for her to be. She rose, tiptoed softly into the dress¬ 
ing-room, took from the bowl the spray of white lilacs she 
had worn with the other flowers that evening, shook off the 
water, and drew the stem through a buttonhole in the yoke 
of her simple night-dress. She tiptoed back again into her 
room, looked up at the dainty, canopied bed, then laid her¬ 
self down within it, and, almost immediately, fell asleep — 
with her hand resting on the white fragrance that lay upon 
her heart. 


XXIII 


BEHOLD HOW GREAT A MATTER A LITTLE FIRE KINDLETH 

It was so delightful! The weeks were passing all too 
quickly, and the letters to Mount Hunger waxed eloquent in 
praise of everybody’s kindness. 

Jack had come on to lead a cotillion with Rose at Aunt 
Carrie’s. It was a weighty affair — the selecting of the 
flowers for her. White violets they must be, and white 
violets were about as rare as white raspberries. Jack gave 
the florist his own address. 

“ I’ll see them, myself, before I send them up; for I won’t 
trust anyone’s eyes but my own,” he said to himself as he 
hurried home to dress for dinner with a friend. “ I wish I 
hadn’t promised Grayson to meet him at the Club before 
seven. I’m afraid they won’t come in time.” He looked at 
his watch. “ I’m going to make them a test — and see what 
she’ll do. She’s so friendly and frank, and all that, I can’t 
find out even whether she’s beginning to care.” 

Jack’s absorption in the theme was such that he put his 
latch-key in wrong-side up, and, in consequence, wrestled 
with the lock till he had worked himself into a fever of im¬ 
patience ; finally he touched the button before he discovered 
the trouble. 

“ Any packages come for me, Jason? ” he inquired of the 
butler, whose dignified manner of locomotion had been rude¬ 
ly shaken by Jack’s unceasing pressure on the electric-bell. 

“ Yes, Mr. John. Just taken a box up to the rooms.” 


242 A Daughter of the Rich 

Jack looked relieved, and sprang upstairs two steps at a 
time. He opened the box. There they were in all their ex¬ 
quisite freshness. “ Like her,” he thought, touching his lips 
to them; then, suddenly straightening himself, he felt the 
blood surge into his face. 

“ I like Dord’s way of putting up his flowers, no tags, 
nor fol-de-rols. Jason,” he said, as he ran downstairs 
again, “ I shall be back in an hour; tell Thomas to have 
everything laid out — I’m in a hurry. And have a mes¬ 
senger-boy here when I come back, and don’t forget to order 
the carriage for quarter of eight, sharp.” 

“ Yes, Mr. John.” 

“ Messenger boy come? ” he inquired as Jason opened the 
door on his return. 

“ Yes, sir, waiting in the hall.” 

Jack raced upstairs. There was the precious box on his 
dressing-table. He hastily took a visiting card, and, writing 
on it the sentiment that was uppermost in his heart, slipped 
it into the envelope, gave it, together with the box, to the 
waiting boy, and bade him hand it to the man, Wilkins, with 
the request that it be sent up at once to the lady to whom it 
was addressed. Then he made ready for dinner. 

An hour later, Rose was dressing for the dance, and Hazel 
was watching her, chatting volubly all the while. 

“ That’s the loveliest dress, Rose. I heard Aunt Carrie 
say, you couldn’t buy such, nowadays.” 

“ It was Martie’s wedding-dress. An uncle of her 
mother’s, who was a sea-captain, brought it from India. 
But if I wear it many more times, it will be known through¬ 
out the length of New York. This is my sixth time.” 

“ I shouldn’t care if it were the hundredth; it’s just lovely. 
Besides, Jack hasn’t seen it, you know.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 243 

Rose laughed. “ Oh, yes, he has — on Martie; that night 
of the tea on the porch.” 

“ Oh, well, that’s different. What flowers are you going 
to wear ? ” 

“ I thought I wouldn’t wear any, just for a change.” 
Rose’s face was veiled by the shining hair, which she was 
brushing, preparatory to coiling it high on her head; other¬ 
wise, Hazel would have seen the clear flush that warmed 
even the roots of the soft waves at the nape of her neck. 
Just then there was a knock. The maid opened the door, 
and Wilkins’ voice was distinctly audible: — 

“ Jes’ come fo’ Miss Rose; dey wuz to come up right 
smart, so de boy say.” 

“Oh, more flowers. Who from?” cried Hazel, eagerly, 
while Wilkins strained his ears to catch the reply . 

“ From Mr. Sherrill,” said Rose, opening the little 
envelope. 

What she read on the card caused the blood to mount 
higher and higher, till temples and forehead flushed pink, 
then as suddenly to recede. 

“ May I open them, Rose, and won’t you wear some if- 
they’re from Jack? ” 

“ Yes,” said Rose, simply. The two girls leaned over the 
box as Hazel took off the wrapper — then the cover — then 
the inner tissue papers — then — 

Suddenly a shriek of laughter, followed by another, pene¬ 
trated to Wilkins, who was lingering on the stairs; he came 
softly back again. Peal after peal of wild merriment issued 
from Rose’s room. Within, Rose in her petticoat and 
bodice had flung herself on the bed in an ecstasy of mirth, 
and Hazel was rolling over on the rug as was the wont of 
Budd and Cherry in the old days on Mount Hunger. The 
maid looked from one to the other, and, no longer able to 


244 ^ Daughter of the Rich 

keep from joining in the merriment, although she did not 
know the cause, left the room, only to find Wilkins with 
perturbed face just outside the door. 

“ Tears lake dere wor sumfin’ queah ’bout dat yere 
box —• ” he began; but the maid only shook with laughter 
and laid her finger on her lips, motioning him into the back 
hall. 

“Did you ever?” cried Hazel, when she recovered her 
breath. 

“ No, I never,” said Rose, wiping away the tears, for she 
had laughed till she cried. “ Let’s take another look.” 

They bent over the box, and took out its contents; then 
went off again into fits of seemingly inextinguishable laugh¬ 
ter ; for, neatly folded beneath the tissue paper, lay four sets 
of Jack’s new light-weight, white silk pajamas, which he 
had purchased that afternoon, in order to take back to 
Cambridge with him. On the card, which Rose still held in 
her hand, was written, “ Wear these for my sake.” 

“ What will you say to him, Rose? ” said Hazel, sitting up 
on the rug with her hands clasped about her knees. 

“ I don’t know,” said Rose, proceeding to dress. “ I can’t 
wear them, that’s certain.” And again the absurdity of the 
situation presented itself to her. “ And I can’t apologize for 
not wearing them. Neither can I take it for granted that he 
was going to send me flowers, and explain that he sent me 
these instead.” 

“How awfully careless,” said Hazel, interrupting her; 
“ he must have had something on his mind not to take the 
pains to look, even.” 

Rose flushed. “ It will be best to let the matter drop, and 
say nothing about it,” she replied in a cool, toploftical tone 
that amazed, as well as mystified, her little hostess. 


A Daughter of the Rich 245 

“ Why, Rose, I think Jack ought to know about it. I’ll 
tell him, if you don’t want to.” 

“ Thank you, Hazel, but I don’t need your good offices 
in this matter.” 

Hazel rose from the rug, and going over to Rose, laid 
both hands on her shoulders and looked straight up into her 
eyes. 

“ Now, Rose Blossom, please don’t speak to me in that 
way. You’re so queer! First you’re nice about Jack, and 
then you’re horrid; and when you’re that way, you aren’t 
nice to me a bit — and I don’t like it, and I don’t blame Jack 
for not liking it either,” she added emphatically. “I remem¬ 
ber papa said a year ago that Jack was 4 all heart ’ for a good 
many girls, old and young — but I can tell you what, he 
won’t have any for you, if you whiff round so.” 

Hazel in her earnestness gave Rose a little shake. Rose 
smiled, and, bending her head, kissed her, saying, “ F. and 
F. and you know, Hazel.” 

“ Oh, I know all about ‘ forgiving and forgetting,’ but I 
don’t like it just the same. He’s my cousin and the dearest 
fellow in the world, and I don’t like to have him treated so.” 

“How about his treating me?” said Rose, pointing to 
the innocent box of underwear, “ forgetting even to look, 
or not caring enough, to see if I had the right package? ” 

“ Oh, that’s different — perhaps the florist made a mis¬ 
take.” 

“ The florist! ” Rose laughed merrily. “ I never knew 
that gentlemen’s underwear and roses grew on the same 
bush. — There’s Wilkins, and I’m not ready. 4 ” 

“ De coachman say it’s a pow’ful col’ night, an’ Miss 
Rose bettah take some mo’ wraps.” 

“ Thank you, Wilkins,” Hazel flew into the dressing- 
room for a long fur cloak of her mother’s which she had 


246 A Daughter of the Rich 

used to wear to the dancing-classes. She wrapped it about 
Rose who stooped suddenly and kissed her again, whisper¬ 
ing, “ Hazel, you’ve all spoiled me, that’s what’s the matter, 
— but I’ll be good to Jack, for your sake as well as for my 
own.” 

“ Now, you’re what Doctor Heath calls papa, the most 
splendid fellow in the world. There now — I won’t crush 
your gown — ” A kiss — “ Good-night. You look like an 
angel! ” 

Mr. Clyde thought so, too, as he watched her coming 
downstairs. She slipped off the cloak as she stood beneath 
the soft, but brilliant hall lights. “Do I look all right?” 
she asked earnestly, for she had fallen into the habit, before 
going anywhere with him or Hazel, of asking for their criti¬ 
cism. 

“ I should say so — but where are the flowers ? I miss 
them.” 

“ I thought I wouldn’t wear any to-night, just for a 
change.” 

“ A woman’s whim, Rose. But I can’t say that you need 
them — Now, what’s to pay?” he said to himself, as he 
helped her into the carriage. “ I saw Jack at Dord’s this 
afternoon, and, evidently, something was in the wind. I 
hope it hasn’t been taken out of his sails.” 

“ Sumfin’ mighty queah ’bout dat yere box,” murmured 
Wilkins to himself, as he closed the door, “ but Miss Rose 
doan’ need no flow’s. Nebber see sech h — Fo’ de good 
Lawd! Wha’ fo’ yo’ hyar? Yo’ Minna-Lu, — skeerin’ 
mah day-lights out o’ mah, shoolin’ ’roun’ b’hin’ dat por’ 
chair, — jes’ lak bug’lahs.” 

Minna-Lu gurgled. “ Yo’ jes’ straight, Wilkins; nebber 
see sech ha’r. Huccome I’se hyar? Jest to see dat lillum- 
white angel — ” 



“Do I look all right f ” she asked earnestly 

Page 246. 












A Daughter of the Rich 247 

“ Yo’ go ’long, wha’ yo’ b’long,” growled Wilkins, not 
yet having recovered from his fright. And Minna-Lu went, 
with the radiant vision still before her round, black eyes. 

Jack felt a queer tightening about his lower jaw, and one 
heart-throb, apparently in his throat, as he entered Aunt 
Carrie’s reception-room. Then, as with one glance he swept 
Rose from the crown of her head to the hem of her dress, a 
hot, rushing wave of indignant feeling mastered him — he 
knew he had staked his all (so a man at twenty-two is apt 
to think) and lost. He braced himself, mentally and 
physically. He wasn’t going to show the white-feather — 
not he. 

But Rose — Rose was mystifying, captivating, cordial, 
merry, and altogether charming. She knocked out all Jack’s 
calculations as to life, love, women, girls in general, and one 
girl in particular, at one fell swoop. He was brought, neces¬ 
sarily, into unstable equilibrium, so far as his feelings were 
concerned — his head he was obliged to keep level on ac¬ 
count of the various figures. Several other heads were 
variously askew, and would have been turned, likewise, for 
good and all, had the wearer of her mother’s India-mull 
wedding-dress been possessed of a fortune. 

Rose developed social powers that evening that furnished 
food for conversation for Aunt Carrie and Mr. Clyde, who 
watched her with pride and pleasure. She was evidently 
enjoying herself thoroughly, and her enjoyment proved con¬ 
tagious. 

“ After all,” said Jack as, between figures, he found op¬ 
portunity for a whispered word or two; “ this isn’t half so 
fine a dance as the one in the barn, last September.” 

“Why, that’s just what I was thinking, myself, that 
very minute! ” 

“ You were? ” 


A Daughter of the Rich 


248 

“ Yes.” 

The brown eyes and the blue ones met with such evidence 
of a perfect understanding, that Jack failed to see Maude 
Seaton, who had approached him for the purpose of taking 
him out in the four-in-hand. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Jack, starting to his feet, 
“ it’s the * four-in-hand/ ” 

“ Yes, and I think you’ll have to be put into the traces 
again,” she said, with a meaning smile. 

“ Not I,” retorted Jack, merrily, “ I kicked over them 
nearly a year ago.” 

“So I heard,” replied Miss Seaton, sweetly; and Jack 
wondered what she meant. 

When Jack found himself again beside Rose, he decided 
that, flowers or no flowers, he would ask for an explanation. 
But his first attempt was met with such a bewilderingly 
merry smile, and such confident assurance that explanations 
were not in order, that it proved a successful failure. 

When, at last, in the early morning hours he was seated 
before the open fire in his bedroom, pulling away reflectively 
at his pipe, he had time to think it over. He came to the 
conclusion that it was trivial in him to have staked his all 
on her wearing those flowers, for she certainly—certainly 
had led him to think that she was anything but indifferent to 
him. 

“That look now,” mused Jack. “ I don’t believe that a 
girl like Rose Blossom would look that way if she didn’t 
mean it — if she didn’t care. No other girl could look that 
way.” He reached for his watch on the dressing-case. “ I 
shall get good two hours’ sleep before that early train. — 
What’s that ? ” He noticed for the first time, that on the 
bed lay a familiar- looking box in a brown paper wrapper. 
In a trice he had broken the string, whisked off the cover, 


A Daughter of the Rich 249 

scattered the tissue paper right and left.— There lay the 
violets, white, and sweet, and almost as fresh as when he 
gave them his virgin kiss nearly twelve hours before. 

Jack sat down stupefied on the bed. What had he given 
her, anyway? He thought intensely for a full minute. 

“Great Scott! the pajamas!” And then Jack Sherrill 
rolled over on the bed, ignoring the damage to dress suit 
and violets, and, burying his face in the pillow, gave vent to 
a smothered yell. 

There was a merry exchange of notes between Cam¬ 
bridge and New York during the next two weeks, and Rose 
had promised to wear any flowers — and only his — he 
might send her for the ball at Mrs. Fenlick’s the middle of 
February, and for which Jack was coming on. It would 
occur during the last week of Rose’s visit, and Jack thought 
that possibly — possibly, — well, he couldn’t define just 
what “ possibly ”; but it proved to be an infinitely absorb¬ 
ing one, and Jack felt it was “ now or never ” with him. 

Mrs. Heath had claimed Rose as her guest for the last 
three weeks, and the days were filled with pleasures. On the 
Saturday before the ball, and a week before Rose was to re¬ 
turn to Mount Hunger, two seats in a box at the opera had 
been sent in to Mrs. Heath from a friend. 

“Look at these, Rose!” Mrs. Heath exclaimed, showing 
her the note. “ Just exactly what you were wishing to hear, 
and we thought we could not arrange it for next week. That 
opera has been changed for to-day’s matinee, and now you 
can hear both Lohengrin and Siegfried.” 

Rose clapped her hands. “ I’ve just longed to hear 
Lohengrin; Mrs. Ford and her son have played so much of 
it to me. I think it’s perfectly beautiful.” 

“ I’m so sorry I can’t go, dear; but I made a positive 
engagement for this afternoon and it must not be broken. 


250 A Daughter of the Rich 

But I’ll send round for Cousin Anna May. She doesn’t 
care much for the opera, but she will chaperone you. She’s 
not much of a talker either, so you can enjoy the music in 
peace. People chatter so abominably there.” 

From the moment the orchestra sounded the first notes of 
that pathetic and thrillingly appealing fore-word of the over¬ 
ture, Rose was lost to the world about her. She was glad of 
the darkness, glad no one could see or notice her intense 
absorption in the opening scene. Even when the lights were 
turned on between the acts, and the subdued murmur in the 
house rose to a confusing babble, she was living in the story 
of Elsa and her lover Knight. Elderly Cousin Anna May, 
seeing this, let her alone, thinking to herself:—“One has to 
be young to be so enthusiastic over this wornout theme.” 

The curtain fell; the house was brilliant with lights; con¬ 
fusion of merry chat and laughter were all about Rose; but 
she sat unheeding, wondering if the element of evil would 
be turned into a factor of good. Her heart was aching with 
the intensity of feeling for the two lovers. Suddenly, a few 
words behind her arrested her attention. She sat with her 
back to the speakers — two girls in the next box, who had 
annoyed her more than once by their ceaseless, whispering 
gabble. 

“ I told Maude I didn’t believe it.” 

“ What did she say? ” 

“ She said it was gospel truth.” 

“ Do tell me what it was, I won’t tell.” 

“ Sure?” 

“ Not a soul.” 

“ Promise? ” 

“ Why, of course. They say he’s got oceans of money.” 

“ Piles —. He’s got his mother’s fortune and will have 
his father’s. Besides, his Uncle Gray is a bachelor, and so 


A Daughter of the Rich 251 

Jack will have that, too. Maude says he’s the best catch in 
New York.” 

“ I heard Sam say he was in an awfully fast set in college; 
but Sam likes him awfully well. Have you seen him? ” 

“ Oh, yes, lots. Maude let me see him one night before 
dinner at Newport. I used to see him playing polo at the 
grounds. I think he’s fascinating — just like Lohengrin.” 

“ But what was it? Hurry up, do.” 

“ You’ll never tell?” 

“ Never.” 

The voice was slightly lowered — confused with the 
munching of Huyler’s; and Rose, with hypersensitive hear¬ 
ing, could distinguish only a word or two, or a detached 
sentence. 

“ I don’t thing that’s so awful. Sam does that, too, and 
he’s just as nice a brother as I want.” 

“ Oh, I don’t know anything about that; but I know it’s 
true, for Maude said so.” In the increasing confusion of 
talk in the house, the voices were suddenly raised, and Rose 
caught every word. 

“ I’ll ask Sam —• ” began the other, dropping her opera 
glass and stooping to pick it up. 

“If you do, Minna Grayson, I’ll never speak to you 
again.” 

“Oh, I forgot — ” laughed the other. “Tell us some 
more, it’s awfully exciting.” 

“ I won’t either,” said the other, in a huffy tone. Evident¬ 
ly, they were school-girls in for the matinee. 

“ Oh, do; what did Maude say? ” 

“ She said, ‘ No,’ ” chuckled the other triumphantly. 

“ But think of his money! ” 

“ She said she didn’t mind; she’s got money enough of 


252 A Daughter of the Rich 

her own, anyway, if she does skimp me on allowance ever 
since grandmamma died.” 

“ I heard Sam say last Christmas when I was home for 
vacation, that he was perfectly devoted to that new girl the 
Clydes have taken up.” 

“ Yes. Maude says it’s one of his fads. She gives him 
six months more to get over it.” 

“ Everybody says she is a perfect beauty. Sam says that 
Mrs. Fenlick says she is the most beautiful creature off. of a 
canvas she has ever seen.” 

“ Oh, Maude says Mrs. Fenlick raves over everything 
new. She, the girl, I mean, made a dead set at him a year 
ago when he happened to meet her up in the mountains. 
You know they had a riding-party last August. But now 
they say she seems to be setting her cap for Hazel’s father 
— he has a milion or two more than Jack, and she’s as poor 
as a church-mouse.” 

“ I didn’t know that,— poor? ” 

“ Yes, awfully. Why, Maude says she’s seen her selling 
berries for a living somewhere up in the mountains — oh, 
way back in them. People call them the Lost Nation, 
they’re so far back; and Maude says she wore patched shoes 
and an old calico dress — Sh! — Now we’re going to have 
that bridal march, isn’t it dandy? It ought to be a part of 
the marriage ceremony, Maude says. I’m so glad it’s com¬ 
ing; —Turn, turn, ty turn — turn, turn, ty turn — here’s just 
one more candied violet — turn, turn, ty turn, turn, ty turn, 
ty ty turn, ty turn — Oh, look! Isn’t Elsa just lovely — ” 

A burst of applause greeted the beautiful prima donna. 
Upon Rose’s ears it fell like the thunder of a cataract, like 
the crash and roll of an avalanche. She stared at the ex¬ 
quisite scene before her with strained eyes. The music went 
on with all the troublous-sweet undertones of love, and 


A Daughter of the Rich 253 

longing, and forever-parting. Not once did Rose stir until 
the curtain fell, then she turned to her companion: — 

“ Can we get out soon, Mrs. May ? The air is a little 
close here.” 

“ Certainly, my dear ”; but to herself she said, “ How 
intense she is. I’m thankful I never was so strung up over 
music.” 


XXIV 


"old put” 

“Where's Rose?” said the Doctor as he came in that Sat¬ 
urday evening, and heard no welcoming voice from the 
library or the stairs. 

“She came home from the opera with a frightful head¬ 
ache and has gone to bed. She said she didn't want any din¬ 
ner, but I have insisted upon her having some toast and tea,” 
replied his wife. 

“ Humph! ” growled the Doctor; “ Our wild rose can't 
stand such hot-house atmposhere. When does the Fenlick’s 
ball come off ? ” 

“Next Wednesday; it will be a superb affair. Rose 
showed me her card the other day, and if you will believe 
me, it’s full, although Jack Sherrill gets the lion’s share.” 

“ How do you think things are coming on there, wifie ? ” 

“ Why, he’s devoted to her whenever he can be; you 
know what Mrs. Pearsell told us about last summer, but — ” 

“ But what ? ” said the Doctor, a little impatiently. 
“ Generally, wifie, you can see prospective wedding-cake if 
two young people so much as look twice at each other.” 

Mrs. Heath laughed and nodded. “Yes, I know; but in 
just this case, I don’t know.. You can’t tell anything by her 
— and I fear, hubbie, that Jack Sherrill isn’t quite good 
enough for her.” 

“Not quite good enough for her!” The Doctor almost 
shouted in his earnestness. “ Jack Sherrill not quite good 
enough for — ” 


A Daughter of the Rich 255 

“ Sh — sh, dear! ” His wife held up her hand in warning, 
“ Someone might hear.” 

“ Let ’em hear, then,” growled the Doctor. “I say Rose 
isn’t a bit too good for him.— Look here, wifie,— ” he drew 
her towards him and down upon the arm of his easy-chair, 
“Jack’s all right every time — do you understand? All 
right! ” 

“ Ye-es,” admitted his wife rather reluctantly. “ I know 
he’s a great favorite of yours. But Mrs. Grayson says he’s 
in a very fast set at Harvard — ” 

“ Now look here, wifie, don’t you let those women with 
their eternal hunger for gossip say anything to you about 
Jack. I tell you there isn’t another fellow I know, who, 
placed as he is, can set up so many white stones to mark his 
short life’s pathway as John Sherrill’s only son. For 
heaven’s sake, give him the credit for them. I know what 
I saw on Mount Hunger a year ago, and I know and believe 
what I see.” 

“Well, I only hope he won’t flirt with her — ” began 
Mrs. Heath. Her husband interrupted her: 

“ Flirt with her! ” The Doctor chuckled. “ I’ll war¬ 
rant Jack won’t do any flirting with her — it’ll be the other 
way round sooner than that! Just say good-night to Rose 
for me when you go upstairs, and tell her if she isn’t down 
bright and early Sunday morning, I’ll perscribe for her.” 

But there was no need for the Doctor’s prescription; for 
Rose was down for breakfast, and although white cheeks 
and heavy eyes caused the Doctor to draw his eyebrows to¬ 
gether in a straight line over the bridge of his nose, nothing 
was said of there being any need for a prescription. But 
after breakfast he drew her into the library and placed her 
in an easy-chair before the blazing fire. 

“There now,” he said in his own kindliest tones, “sit 


256 A Daughter of the Rich 

there and dream while wifie makes ready for church, and 
after that you shall go with me for an official drive. The 
air will do you good. I can’t send such white roses ” — he 
patted her cheek—“back to Mount Hunger; what would 
mother say?” 

To his amazement Rose buried her face in both hands; 
a half-suppressed sob startled him. 

“ Why, Rose-pose! What’s the matter, little girl? Head- 
achey — nerves unstrung — too much opera? Here, come 
into the office where we shan’t be disturbed, and tell me all 
about it.” 

But Rose shook her head, lifted it from her hands, and 
smiled through the welling tears. 

“I’m a perfect goose, but—but—I believe I’m getting 
just a little bit homesick for Mount Hunger, and I’m not 
going to stay for Mrs. Fenlick’s ball. I know mother needs 
me at home — I can just feel it in her letters, and I know I 
want — I want her.” 

“ Don’t blame you a bit, Rose, — but isn’t this rather 
sudden? Any previous attacks? ” 

“No — and I know it seems dreadfully ungrateful to you 
and dear Mrs. Heath to say so, and it isn’t that — I’d love 
to be with just you two; but it’s this dreadful feeling comes 
over me, and I know I ought to go.” 

“ And go you shall, Rose,” said the Doctor, emphatically, 
but oh! so kindly and understanding^. “ Go back to all the 
dear ones there — and when you come again, don’t give us 
the tail-end of your visit, will you ? ” 

“Indeed, I won’t,” answered Rose, earnestly, “and if it 
were only you and Mrs. Heath, I’d love to stay, but — 
but — ” 

“ No need to say anything more, Rose, wifie and I under¬ 
stand it perfectly — ” (“I wish the dickens I did! ” was his 


A Daughter of the Rich 257 

thought) — “ Tell wifie when she comes down, and mean¬ 
while I’ll send round for the brougham and we’ll take a lit¬ 
tle drive in the Park before office hours.” 

Rose patted his hand, and her silence spoke for her. 

“ Here’s a pretty kettle of fish! ” said the Doctor to him¬ 
self as he went to the telephone. “ I wish I could get to the 
bottom of it.” 

And thus it came about that a cool, dignified note, not 
expressive of any particular regret, was mailed to Cam¬ 
bridge on Sunday afternoon, and a long letter to Mount 
Hunger telling them to be sure to meet her on Tuesday at 
Barton’s, and filled with wildly enthusiastic expressions of 
delight in anticipation of the home-coming. And on Tues¬ 
day afternoon, as the train sped onwards, following the 
curves of the frozen Connecticut, and the snow-covered 
mountains on the Vermont side began to crowd its banks, 
Rose felt a lightening of the heart and an uplifting of spirits. 

The bitterness and shame and shock she had experienced, 
in consequence of that one little bite of the fruit of the Tree 
of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, seemed to diminish 
with every mile that increased the distance between her and 
the frothing whirlpool of the great city’s gayeties. All the 
way up, until the mountains loomed in sight, there had been 
hot, indignant protest in her thoughts. At first, indeed, it 
had been hatred. 

“ I hate it all — hate it, hate it! ” she found herself say¬ 
ing over and over again after the good-byes had been said 
at the station, and Hazel and Mr. Clyde and Doctor Heath 
had supplied her with flowers and magazines for the long 
day’s journey. It was all she could think or feel at the time; 
but soon the little pronoun changed, and the thought grew 
more bitter. 

“ I hate him! How could he — how dared he do as he 


258 A Daughter of the Rich 

did! Because I am poor, I suppose. Oh! I wish I could 
make him pay for it. I wish I could make him love me 
really and truly, and then just scorn him! But what a fool 
I am — as if he could love after what I heard — oh, why 
did I hear it! I wish I may never see his face again, and I 
wish Fd stayed at home where I belong — I hate him! ” — 
And so on “ da capo ” hour after hour, and the incessant 
chugetty-chug-chug of the express furnished the rhythmic, 
basal tone for the bitter motive. 

It was long after lunch time, and the train of thought 
had not changed, when Rose’s eye fell upon the dainty 
basket Martin had placed in the rack. 

“ This is a pretty state of mind to go home to Martie in! ” 
she said to herself, rising and taking down the basket. “ I 
haven’t eaten a good meal since last Saturday at lunch, and 
I’m — why, I believe I’m hungry! ” 

She opened the basket, and loving evidence of Minna-Lu’s 
admiration tempted her to pick a little here and there — a 
stuffed olive or two, a roast quail, a delicate celery sandwich, 
a quince tart, a bunch of Hamburg grapes. Soon Rose was 
feasting on all the good things, and her harsh thoughts be¬ 
gan to soften. How kind they all were! And they truly 
loved her — and what had they not done for her comfort 
and pleasure! Rose, setting her pretty teeth deep into a 
third quince tart, looked out of the window and almost ex¬ 
claimed aloud at the sight. The vanguard of the Green 
Mountains closed in the upper end of the river-valley along 
which they were speeding. It was home that was behind all 
that! The thought still further softened her. 

What? Carry her bitterness and disappointed pride back 
into that dear, peaceful home? Not she! “They shall 
never^ know — never!” she said to herself — “I’m not 
Molly Stark for nothing, and there are others in the world 


A Daughter of the Rich 259 

beside Jack Sherrill.” And so she continued to speak cold 
comfort to herself for the next four hours until the brake- 
man called “ Barton’s River! ” 

There beyond the platform was the old apple-green pung! 
— and yes! father and March and Budd and dear old Chi 
anxiously scanning the coaches. 

Home at last! and such a home-coming! How busy the 
tongues were for a week afterwards! How wildly gay was 
Rose, who kept them laughing over the many queer doings 
of the metropolis, over Wilkins and Minna-Lu and Martin 
and Mrs. Scott! And how lovingly she spoke of Hazel’s 
charming hospitality and of Mr. Clyde’s thoughtfulness for 
her pleasure, although, as she mentioned his name, a wave 
of color mounted to the roots of her hair at the ugly thought 
that would intrude. Chi listened with all his ears, enjoying 
it with the rest; but once upstairs in his room over the shed, 
he would sit down on the side of his bed to ponder a little 
the gay doings of his Rose-pose among the “ high-flyers,” 
and then turn in with a sigh and a muttered: 

“ ’Tain’t Rose-pose. I knew how’t would be.— There’s 
a screw loose somewhere; but she’s handsome! — handsome 
as a picture, ’n’ I’d give a dollar to know if she’s cut that 
other one out.” 

“ Valentines seem kind of scarce this year,” he remarked 
rather grimly, a few days after her arrival, as late in the 
afternoon, he returned from Barton’s with little mail and no 
boxes of flowers. “ It’s the sixteenth day of February, but 
it might be Fast Day for all that handful of mail would 
show for it! ” He placed the package on Mrs. Blossom’s 
work-table at which Rose was sitting busy with some sew¬ 
ing. They were alone in the room. 

Rose laughed merrily. “ Goodness, Chi! you want us to 
have more than our share. We had a perfect deluge last 


260 A Daughter of the Rich 

year when Hazel was here; you know it makes a difference 
without her. You said yourself that there was a good deal 
of bulk, but it was pretty light weight — don’t you re¬ 
member? ” 

Chi elevated one bushy eyebrow. “ I ain’t forgot; but I 
don’t know about it’s bein’ any Deluge — it appeared to me 
it was a Shadrach, Meshach, ’n’ Abednego kind of a busi¬ 
ness — ” He gave the back log a kick that sent the sparks 
up the chimney in a grand pyrotechnic show. “ Seems as if 
I could see those posies, now, a-shrivellin’ in the fireplace. 
Never thought you treated those innocent things quite on 
the square, Rose-pose! ” 

Rose’s head was bent low over her work. Chi went on, 
bracing himself to the self-imposed task of enlightening 
her: — 

“ I don’t want to meddle, Rose, in anybody’s business, 
but it ain’t set well with me ever since — the way you 
treated those roses; ’n’, after all, we’re both members of 
the Nobody’s Business But Our Own Society, ’n’ if any¬ 
body’s goin’ to meddle, perhaps I’m the one. I’ve thought 
a good many times you wouldn’t have been quite so harsh 
with ’em, if you hadn’t overlooked this in your flare-up — ” 
He drew out of his breast pocket a card — Jack’s — with 
the verse on the back. “ Read that, ’n’ see if you ain’t 
dropped a stitch somewhere that you can pick up in time.” 
He handed her the card. 

Rose looked up surprised, but with burning cheeks. She 
took the card, read the verse, turned it over on the name 
side, and rose from her chair. Every particle of color had 
left her face. She went over to the fireplace, and, bending, 
dropped the little piece of pasteboard upon the glowing back¬ 
log. 

“ The sentiment belongs with the roses, Chi; don’t let’s 


A Daughter of the Rich 261 

have any more Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego business 
— I’m tired of it.” She spoke indifferently; then, resuming 
her seat, called out in a cheery voice: 

“Martie, won’t you come here a minute, and see if I have 
put on this gore right? ” 

“ I’ll come, dear.” 

Chi, nonplussed, irritated, repulsed, set his teeth hard and 
abruptly left the room. 

Outside in the shed he clenched his fist and shook it vigor¬ 
ously at the closed door of the long-room: “ — By George 
Washin’ton! ” he muttered, “ I’ll make you pay up for that, 
Rose Blossom. You can’t come any of your high-flyers’ 
games on me — Just you put that in your pipe and smoke 
it! Thunderation! what gets into women and girls, some¬ 
times? ” He seized the milk-pails from the shelf and hur¬ 
ried to the barn nearly running down Cherry in his wrathful 
excitement. 

“Look out there, Cherry! You’re always getting round 
under foot! ” he said, harshly, and stumbled on, regaining 
his balance, only to be met by Budd in the barn. 

“ Just clear out now, Budd! I ain’t goin’ to stand your 
foolin’. Let alone of that stanchion,” he roared. “ Always 
worryin’ the cow if she looks once at you sideways. Get 
up, there.— ” His right boot helped the amazed cow for¬ 
wards into the stall, and the milk drummed into the pail as 
if the poor creature were being milked by a dummy-engine 
with more pressure of steam on than it could well stand. 

Budd flew into the woodshed and found Cherry still 
standing, in a half-dazed condition, where Chi had left her. 
They compared notes immediately to the detriment and de¬ 
famation of Chi’s character. Then they carried their budget 
of woe to their mother. 

“Chi is worried, children; you mustn’t mind if he is a 


262 A Daughter of the Rich 

little cross now and then. He feels dreadfully about the 
prospect of this war, as we all do, and that’s his way of 
showing it.” 

“ Well, if he’s going to be so cross at us, I wish he’d 
clear out an’ go to war! ” retorted Budd, smarting under the 
unjust treatment. 

“ I’m only afraid he will if we have one,” said Mrs. Blos¬ 
som, sadly. “ But, oh, I hope and pray we may be spared 
that!” 

But Budd continued to grumble, and Cherry to be sus¬ 
piciously sniffy, until their father’s return; and then at the 
supper table they listened greedily to all the talk of their 
elders, that had for its absorbing theme the prospective war. 

As the spring days lengthened, and the sun drew north¬ 
ward, the tiny cloud on the country’s peaceful horizon grew 
larger and darker, until it cast its shadow throughout the 
length and breadth of the land, and men’s faces grew stern 
and troubled and women prayed for peace. 

With the lengthening days Chi showed signs of increas¬ 
ing restlessness. “ It ain’t any use, Ben,” he said, one soft 
evening in early May, as the family, with the exception of 
the younger children, sat on the porch discussing the latest 
news, “ I’ve got to go.” 

“ Oh, Chi! ” broke from Mrs. Blossom and Rose. They 
cried out as if hurt. Mr. Blossom grasped Chi’s right hand, 
and March wrung the other. 

“ I can’t stand it,” he went on; “ we’ve been sassed enough 
as a nation, ’n’ some of us have got to teach those foreigners 
we ain’t goin’ to turn the other cheek just coz we’re slapped 
on one. When I wasn’t higher than Budd, my great-grand¬ 
father — you remember him, Ben, lived the other side of the 
Mountain — put his father’s old Revolution’ry musket (the ; 
one, you know, Rose-pose, as I’ve used in the N. B. B. O. 


A Daughter of the Rich 263 

O.) into my hands, ’n’ says: ‘ Don’t you stand no sass, 
Malachi Graham, from no foreigners. — Just shoot away, 
’n’ holler, “ Hands off ” every time, ’n’ they’ll learn their les¬ 
son easy and early, ’n’ respect you in the end.’ And I ain’t 
forgot it.” 

“ Chi,” Mrs. Blossom’s voice was tremulous, “ you won’t 
go till you’re asked, or needed, will you ? ” 

“ I ain’t goin’ to wait to be asked, Mis’ Blossom; I’d 
ruther be on hand to be refused. That’s my way. So I 
thought I’d be gettin’ down along this week — ” 

“ This week! ” Rose interrupted him with a cry and a 
half-sob. “Oh, Chi! dear old Chi! must you go? What 
if — what if — ” Rose’s voice broke, and Chi gulped down 
a big lump, but answered, cheerily: 

“Well, Rose-pose, what iff Ain’t I Old Put? ’n’ ain’t 
you Molly Stark? ’n’ ain’t Lady-bird Barbara Frietchie? — 
There, just read that — ” he handed a letter to March, who 
gave it back to him, saying, in a husky voice, that it was too 
dark to read. 

“ Well, then we’ll adjourn into the house, ’n’ light up. 

— There now,” he said, as he lighted the lamp and set it 
on the table beside March, “ here’s your letter, Markis, 
read ahead.” 

March read with broken voice: 

4 East —th Street, New York, 
May 5, 1898. 

Dear Friend Chi, — I never thought when I joined the N. B. 
B. O. O. Society, that I’d have to be really brave about real war; 

— and now dear old Jack is going off to Cuba with Little Shaver 
and all those cow-boys, — and it’s dreadful! Uncle John is about 
sick over it, for, you know, Jack is all he has. Papa is going to 
keep the house open all summer; he says there is no telling what 
may happen. 

We have made no plans for the summer, for our hearts are so 
heavy on Jack’s account — his last year in Harvard, too! He 


264 A Daughter of the Rich 

told me to tell you he would find out if there is a chance for you 
in the new cavalry regiment he has joined. He looked so pleased 
when I told him; he read your letter, and I told him how you 
wanted to go with him, and he said: “Dear old Chi, I’d like to 
have him for my bunkie ” — and told me what it meant. He 
told me to tell you to be prepared for a telegram at any moment. 

I must stop now; papa wants me to go out with him. Give 
my love to all, and tell Mother Blossom and Rose I will write 
them more particulars in a few days. 

If you come to New York, you know a room will be ready for 
you in the home of your 

Loving friend, 

Hazel Clyde. 

There was silence for a while in the room; then Mr. 
Blossom spoke. 

“ How are you going, Chi ? ” 

“ I’m goin’ to jog along down with Fleet, V take it kind 
of easy — thought I’d cross the Mountain, ’n’ strike in on 
the old post-road; ’n’ follow on down by old Ticonderogy, 
— I’ve always wanted to see that, — then across to Sara- 
togy ’n’ Albany, ’n’ foiler the river. You can’t go amiss of 
New York if you stick to that.” 

Again there was a prolonged silence. Chi hemmed, and 
moved uneasily on his chair, while he fumbled about in his 
trousers’ pocket. He pulled out a piece of crumpled, yellow 
paper. 

“ S’pose I might just as well make a clean breast of it.” 
He tried to laugh, but it was a failure. “ Jack’s telegram 
came along last night, ’n’ I thought, maybe I’d better be get- 
tin’ my duds together to-night, Mis’ Blossom, as’t will be a 
mighty early start — before any of you are up,” he added, 
hastily. 

The two women broke down then, and Mr. Blossom and 
March followed Chi out to the barn. 

The household, save for the younger children, was early 
astir — before sunrise. Mrs. Blossom had prepared a 


A Daughter of the Rich 265 

hearty breakfast, and Rose was rolling up a few pairs of her 
father’s stockings to put in the netted saddle-bag which Chi 
was wont to use in hunting. 

“ Tell March to call Chi, Rose,” said her mother. “ His 
breakfast is ready, I hear him in the barn.” 

Rose ran out in the dawning light to find her father and 
March just coming towards the house. 

“ Why, where’s Chi ? ” she cried. 

For answer, her father pointed to the woodlands. She 
looked just in time to see in the soft gray of the early morn 
the horse and rider rise to the three-railed fence that separa¬ 
ted the pasture from the woodlands. He was following the 
trail he had indicated to Jack — “ through the woods ’n’ 
acre or two of brush, ’n’ then some pretty steep sliding down 
the other side, ’n’ a dozen rods or so of swimmin’, ’n’ a 
tough old clamber up the bank — ” 

Some ten days afterward, late on a warm afternoon in 
May, there rode into New York City by the way of the 
Bronx and Harlem, a middle-aged man on a bright bay 
horse. The animal’s gait was a noticeable one, a long, loping 
gallop, that covered the ground in a manner that roused the 
admiration of the drivers on the speedway. Thei tall, 
loose-jointed body of the rider apparently loped along with 
the horse — their movements were identical. The saddle 
was an old-fashioned cavalry one of the early sixties. A 
netted saddle-bag and a rolled rubber coat were fastened to 
the crupper. A light-weight hunting rifle was slung on a 
strap over the man’s shoulder. At the northern entrance to 
the Park he drew rein beside a mounted policeman. 

“ Can you tell me if I’m on the right track to this house? ” 

He took a card from the pocket of his dusty blue flannel 
shirt and handed it to the policeman. 

The city guardian nodded assent. “ But you can’t take 


266 A Daughter of the Rich 

that gain along with you; you’re inside city limits and liable 
to arrest.” 

“ ’Gainst the law, hey? Well, I’ve come from a pretty 
law-abiding state, ’n’ ain’t goin’ to get into rows with you 
fellers — ” He laid a brown, knotty, work-roughened 
finger on the policeman’s immaculate blue coat — “ I’d trust 
that color as far as I could see. Where shall I leave the 
rifle?” 

The city guard unbent as the kindly voice yielded such 
undefiant obedience to his demand. “ You can leave it with 
me now, — I’m off my beat by seven, and live over east of 
this — ” he handed back the card — “ and I’ll leave it at 
the house if you’re going to be there.” 

“ All right, that’ll suit me. Yes, I’m goin’ to put up there 
for a day or two, maybe.” 

“ Off on a hunting trip ? ” 

“ You bet — goin’ on a big, old, U. S. A. hunt for a lot 
of darned foreigners in Cuby.” 

The policeman held out his hand and grasped the 
stranger’s. “ You’re one of them? ” 

“ Yes, I come down to join a cavalry regiment. Jack 
Sherrill, he belongs, too. Great rider — can’t be beat. Ever 
seen him around here on Little Shaver? ” 

The policeman smiled. “ No, but I’d like to see you 
again — ” 

“ Maybe you will; but I’d better be getting along before 
sundown, —* ’gainst the law to ride this horse a piece 
through those woods ? ” He pointed into the Park. 

“ Oh, no, that’s all right. Keep along till you come to 
Seventieth Street, and inquire; and then turn into Fifth 
Avenue — east — and you’re there.” 

“ Much obliged. Like to show you a trail or two up in 


A Daughter of the Rich 267 

Vermont when you come that way. Get, Fleet.” The 
animal set forward into a long, loping gallop. 

The brilliant, light green of the May foliage was enhanced 
by the level rays of the setting sun, as the man turned his 
horse into Fifth Avenue and drew rein to a rapid walk. 
Many a one paused to look at him as he paced over the 
asphalt. He was looking up at the mansions of the Upper 
East Side. Soon he halted at the corner of a side street and 
gazed up at the first house, the end of which, with the con¬ 
servatory, was on the Avenue, but the entrance on the side 
street. “ That’s the place,” he spoke to himself, —“don’t see 
a hitchin’-post handy, so Eli just have to tie up to this electric 
light stand. Iron, by thunder! — Well, there ain’t any risk 
so long as’t isn’t lit, ’n’ there ain’t a tempest. 

Leaving his horse firmly tied to the standard he stepped 
up on the low, broad stoop of “ Number 4,” and looked for 
the bell. Not finding any he knocked forcibly on the carved 
iron grill that protected the plate-glass doors. 

The great doors flew open, and a face — “ blacker ’n* 
thunder ” — as the man said to himself, scowled on the 
interloper. 

“ Wha’ fo’ yo’ come hyar, yo’ — ” He got no further. A 
homy hand was extended, and a cheery voice, that broke 
into a laugh, spoke the assuaging words: 

“ Guess you’re Wilkins, ain’t you? I’ve heard Lady-bird 
tell ’bout you till I feel as if we’d been pretty well acquainted 
goin’ on nigh two year now.” 

By this time Wilkins’ face was one broad beam. He 
slapped his free hand on his knee: 

“Yo’s Mister Chi, for sho’ — dere ain’t no need yo’ 
tellin’. Yo’ jes’ come straight in, Mister Chi; Marse John 
an’ little Missy jes’ gone fo’ ah drive in de Park. Dey’ll be 
in any minnte. Yo’ room’s all ready, an’ little Missy put de 


268 A Daughter of the Rich 

flow’rs in fresh dis yere mornin’ —• * ’Case,’ she say, ‘ Wil¬ 
kins, dere ain’t no tellin’ when Chi’s cornin’.’ ” 

“ Sho’,” Chi interrupted him, brushing the back of his 
hand hastily across his eyes. “ I can’t come in now, Wil¬ 
kins, coz I’ve got to stay here ’n’ watch my horse — I’ll sit 
here on the steps a spell ’n’ cool off till Mr. Clyde gets home, 
’n’ he’ll help me see to puttin’ up Fleet for the night. His 
legs are a little mite swollen near the hocks, ’n’ I’m goin’ to 
rub him down myself.” 

“ De coachman jes 7 tend to yo’ hoss like’s ef ’twor yo’se’f, 
Mister Chi. I’ll jes’ call up de stable bo’ ’n’ he’ll rub him 
down wif sp’r’ts, an’ shine him up till he look jes’ lake new 
mahog’ny. Jes’ yo’ come — dere dey come now!” 

Chi was at the curbstone to welcome them. 

“ Chi! O Chi! ” Hazel rose up in the trap at sight of the 
well-known figure, and Chi, laying his hand firmly on 
Martin’s shoulder, put him aside as he sprang to open the 
door and let down the steps, reached up both arms, and took 
Hazel out as tenderly as on the night of her first arrival at 
the farmhouse on the Mountain. And then and there Hazel 
gave him a kiss, and Mr. Clyde grasped his hands in both 
his, and the wide hall doors that Wilkins had thrown open to 
their fullest extent closed upon the reunited friends. 

“ ’E’s a ’ansome ’oss,” Martin remarked to the coachman, 
as he mounted Fleet to take him to the stable; “ Hi ’aven’t 
seen a ’ansomer since Hi’ve bean in the States.” 

A few days after the hall doors were again flung wide, 
but not to their fullest extent, and Wilkins’ face grew 
strangely tremulous when he heard Hazel and Mr. Clyde, 
Jack and Chi coming down the broad hall stairs. Martin 
was proudly leading Fleet and Little Shaver up and down 
in front of the house. 

“Jack! O Jack! I can’t bear to have you go — but I 


A Daughter of the Rich 269 

will be brave.” Hazel smiled through the raining tears. 
She clung to him and kissed him. He put her aside, ran 
out to Little Shaver, and flung himself on before Chi had 
said good-bye. 

“ Take care of Jack, Chi,” she whispered, patting his 
hand. 

“I will, Barbara Frietchie.” He pointed to the flag that, 
in the east wind blowing in from the Sound, was waving 
over the entrance, gripped Mr. Clyde’s hand, then Wilkins’, 
and, apparently, stepped into the saddle. 

“ Quick, quick, Wilkins 1 lower the flag, and let me have 
it.” Wilkins sprang to obey. Hazel seized it, and rushed 
up stairs to the drawing-room, the windows of which over¬ 
looked the Avenue. One of them was open; she leaned out; 
and as Fleet and Little Shaver turned the corner, their riders, 
looking up, saw the young girl’s figure in the opening. She 
was waving the symbol of their Country’s life and their 
manhood’s loyalty. 

They halted, baring their heads for a moment — then 
without once looking back, galloped down the Avenue. 


XXV 


SAN JUAN 

Notwithstanding it was a hot day in the first week 
of July, Mrs. Spillkins had decided to have a “quilting-bee.” 
Having made up her mind, after consulting with Miss 
Melissa and Miss Elvira, she lost no time in summoning 
Uncle Israel from the barn, and making known her plans. 
Uncle Israel mildly objected. 

“Kinder hot fer er quiltin’-bee, ain’t it, Hannah?” 

“ Tis pretty hot,” Mrs. Spillkins admitted, wiping the 
perspiration from her face with her apron, “ but we’ll have 
it to-morrow ’long ’bout four. You get the frames and 
rollers out, Israel, from the back garret, an’ then I want you 
to go up to Mis’ Blossom’s an’ ask ’em to come, an’ get word 
to the other folks on the Mountain.” 

“I’ll go, Hannah, but I dunno ’bout Mis’ Blossom ’n* 
Rose cornin’ ter er quiltin’ bee jest ’bout this time. They’re 
feelin’ pretty low ’bout Chi of! thar in Cuby; news hez come 
thet ther’s ben fightin’—” 

“ I know that, Israel; I’ve thought of that, too; but 
mebbe, it’ll do ’em good, just to change the scene a little. 
Anyway, you ask ’em.” 

“ Jest ez ye say, Hannah.” 

The sun was setting when Uncle Israel made his appear¬ 
ance on the porch where the whole family was assembled 
with Alan Ford. They had but one topic for conversation. 

Uncle Israel gave his invitation, and added: “ Hannah 


A Daughter of the Rich 271 

thought ye’d better come ’n’ change the scene a leetle — she 
knowed ye’d be kinder low-spereted ’bout now.” 

Mrs. Blossom held out her hand. “ Thank you, Uncle 
Israel. Tell Mrs. Spillkins we will both come.” 

“ Hannah wants your folks ter come, tew, Alan.” 

“ Much obliged, Uncle Israel. I’ll tell mother and Ruth; 
I’m sure they will enjoy it. Ruth said the other day she 
wished she might have a chance to see a quilting-bee while 
we are here. Shall I take your message over to Aunt 
Tryphosa? ” 

“ Much obleeged Alan. Thank ye, Rose,” — as Rose 
brought out the large arm-chair and placed it for him; “I’ll 
set a spell ’n’ rest me.” 

It was a typical northern midsummer night. Across the 
valley the mountains loomed, softly luminous, against the 
pale green translucent stretch of open sky in the west. 
There were no clouds; but high above and around there 
swept a long trail of motionless mist, flame-colored over the 
mountain tops, but darkening, with the coming of the night, 
into gray towards the east. The stars were not yet out. 
The veeries were choiring antiphonally in the woodlands. 

An hour afterwards Alan Ford rose to go, and Uncle 
Israel soon followed his example. 

“ I’ll go down the woods’-road a piece with you, Uncle 
Israel,” said Rose. 

As she came back up the Mountain a cool breath drew 
through the pines, and the spruces gave forth their resin¬ 
ous fragrance upon the dewless night. The stars were 
brilliant in the dark blue deeps. 

A midsummer night among the mountains of New Eng¬ 
land! And far away in the sickening heat and wet, the 
fever-laden exhalations of the tropics rose into the nostrils 
of a man, who sat motionless in the rude field-hospital, 


272 A Daughter of the Rich 

hastily improvised on the slope of San Juan, watching, with 
his knees drawn up to his chin and his hands clasping them, 
for some faint tremor in the still face on the army blanket 
spread upon the ground. 

The lantern cast its light full upon that still face. Sud¬ 
denly the watcher bent forward; his keen eyes had detected 
a twitch of an eyelid — a flutter in the muscles of the throat. 
“ Don’t move him,” the surgeon had said; “ the least move¬ 
ment will cause the final hemorhage.” 

There was a catch of the breath — the eyes opened, partly 
filmed. 

“ Jack! ” The watcher spoke, bending lower; his ear over 
the other’s lips. 

“ Chi —” it was a mere breath, but the man heard —“I’m 
—♦ done for.” 

The watcher’s hand, muscular, toil-hardened, sought the 
nerveless one that was lying on the other’s breast, and closed 
upon it with a brooding pressure. There was silence for a 
few minutes. Then the horny hand felt a feeble stirring of 
the fingers beneath the hardened palm — they were fumbling 
weakly at a button. 

The strong hand undid the button gently — very gently, 
without apparent movement. There was a motion of the 
nerveless fingers towards the place. Another breath:— 

“ Give — love — ” 

A long silence fell. 

Mrs. Spillkins heaved a sigh of satisfaction: “ We’ve done 
an awful sight of work,” she said, surveying the five quilts 
“ run ” and “ tacked ” and “ knotted ” in even rows and 
mathematically true squares; “ but it seems as if they didn’t 
eat a mite of supper, an’ that strawberry shortcake was 
enough to melt in your mouth.” 


A Daughter of the Rich 273 

“ What’d I tell ye, Hannah ? They’re worretin’ ’bout 
Chi,” said Uncle Israel. “They’ve fit agin; Ben told me 
while he wuz waitin’ with the team fer the womin-folks. He 
hed the mail, ’n’ er telegram thet thet young feller, we see 
ridin’ ’roun here las’ summer, wuz mortal wounded. He 
didn’t want the womin-folks ter know it till he got ’em hum. 
They sot er sight by him.” 

Mrs. Spillkins threw up her hands: “ Dear suz’y me! ” 
she exclaimed in a distressed voice. “ What’ll they do; I 
hope an’ pray Malachi Graham ain’t hurt none. I feel as if I 
ought to go right up there, an’ see if there’s anything I can 
do.” 

“ Better wait till the Cap’n comes hum, Hannah; he’ll 
hev the papers.” 

“ I guess’t would be better,” and Mrs. Spillkins proceeded 
to fold up her quilts and “ clear up ” the best room. 

The hot July days warmed the breast of the Mountain. 
Over in the corn-patch the stalks had spindled and the swell¬ 
ing ears were ready to tassel. By word or look Rose had 
given no sign — and her mother wondered. The days wore 
on; the routine of daily work and life went on; but the 
younger children’s voices were subdued when they spoke lov¬ 
ingly and longingly of Chi, and Rose sang no longer when 
she kneaded bread. They were days of suspense and heart 
misery for them all. 

Two weeks had passed since that evening when Mr. Blos¬ 
som had read to them the fatal despatch. No word had 
come from anyone save Hazel, who wrote that her father 
and Uncle John had started at once for Cuba, and that she 
hoped to be with the Blossoms the third week in July, for 
by that time they would know the whole truth. 

They had been making ready Hazel’s little bedroom, for 
she was expected in a few days. Rose was tacking up a 


274 ^ Daughter of the Rich 

white muslin curtain at the small window, when she heard 
her father call: 

“ Rose, come here a minute.” 

“ Yes, father.” 

She went out on the porch with the hammer in her hand. 
“ What is it, Popsey dear ? — Why, father, what — oh 
what —! ” 

With shaking hand her father held out a letter to her. 
Rose looked once— it was from Chi! 

“ I wish mother were here, daughter — but she’ll be back 
soon. Let me know how it is with them all —.” Mr. Blos¬ 
som could say no more, for Malachi Graham was as near to 
him as a brother, and he was agonizing for his child. He 
went off to the barn, leaving Rose standing on the porch, 
staring as if fascinated at the superscription of the letter: 

To Miss Rose Blossom, 

Mill Settlement, 

Barton’s River, 

Vermont. 

N. B. B. O. O.—To be opened by nobody but her. 

Rose laid down the hammer mechanically, opened the 
envelope, and unfolded the piece of brown paper from out 
of which fluttered to the floor another and thicker slip, 
stained almost beyond recognition. With staring eyes and 
face as white as driven snow she read the few words 
scrawled in pencil on the brown slip: — 

Dear Rose-pose, — I ain’t no wish to meddle with anybody’s 
business — but I’m just obeying- orders. The last words I heard 
Jack Sherrill speak, was “Give — love,” and he fumbled at his 
breast to get out this enclosed. I ain’t read it — but it’s his heart’s 
blood that’s on it. Give my love to all. 

Yours forever, 

Chi. 

“ His heart’s blood! ” For a moment the words conveyed 
no meaning. She picked up the iron-rusty brown slip from 


A Daughter of the Rich 275 

the floor; unfolded it; read — Barry Cornwall's love-song 
in her own handwriting! 

“ His heart’s blood! ” She pressed one hand hard upon her 
own heart, crushing with the other the dark-stained slip. 
Then, with one wild look around her as if searching for 
help, she ran down the steps, across the mowing, over into 
the pasture and up into the woodlands. Deep, deep into the 
heart of them she made her way, as her mother, Mary Blos¬ 
som, had done before her; but now there was no kneeling, 
no prayer, no petition to take from her the intolerable pain. 

She was young, and she loved as the young love. It was 
not God whom she wanted; it was “Jack! Jack! Jack!” 
She cast herself face down upon the ground, and moaned in 
her agony: “ His heart’s blood — his heart’s blood.” She 
pressed the stained paper to her lips, over and over again. 
Then she opened her blouse and baring her bosom, laid the 
love-song against it — “ His heart’s blood — his heart’s 
blood!” 

So her mother found her. 


XXVI 


maria-ann's crusade 

Of late Aunt Tryphosa had been growing suspicious of 
Maria-Ann, and the latter felt she was being watched; to 
use her own words, “ it nettled her.” 

One afternoon, late in August, her grandmother, coming 
upon her rather suddenly in the pasture as she sat under the 
shade of a patriarchal butternut, ostensibly watching Dorcas, 
asked her sharply: 

“What you doin’, Maria-Ann?” 

“ ’Tendin’ to my own business,” retorted Maria-Ann, 
with an Unwonted snap in her voice, and hurriedly folded 
something out of sight beneath the Hearthstone Journal 
which lay upon her lap. 

This was the signal of open revolt on the part of her 
granddaughter, and the like had occurred but once before 
in all the time of her up-bringing with Aunt Tryphosa. The 
old dame’s lips drew to a thinner line than usual, as she fired 
the second shot into the hostile camp: 

“ You been cryin’, Maria-Ann.” 

“What if I be?” demanded her granddaughter, with a 
flash of indignation from beneath her reddened eyelids. 
“ S’pose I have a right to have feelin’s same as other folks.” 

Suddenly Aunt Tryphosa swooped like a hen-hawk upon 
a small piece of bright scarlet flannel, that the breeze had 
caught away from the protecting folds of the Hearthstone 
Journal, and landed in the covert of sweet fern just at her 
feet. 


A Daughter of the Rich 277 

“ What’s that ? ” She held up the glowing bit of color, 
dangling it before Maria-Ann’s eyes. 

Upon poor Maria-Ann’s inflamed sense of injustice, it had 
much the same effect as a red rag waved before the eyes of 
an infuriated bull. 

She sprang to her feet, snatched the bit of cloth from be¬ 
tween her grandmother’s thumb and fore-finger, and thrust 
it into her dress waist, crying out shrilly in her unwonted 
excitement: 

“ You let that be, Grandmarm Little! It’s my cross and 
I’m going on a crusade — so now! ” 

Aunt Tryphosa sat down rather suddenly in the middle 
of the sweet-fern patch. Was Maria-Ann going crazy? 
Her breath came short and sharp; she drew her thin lips still 
more tightly, and, although really alarmed, braced herself 
for the combat. 

“ What’d you say you was goin’ on, Maria-Ann ? ” 

“ I never knew you was growin’ deef before, grandmarm; 
I said a crusade.” She had raised her voice to a still higher 
pitch, as she stooped to gather up the Hearthstone Journal, 
the bits of red cloth, her scissors, and thimble which had 
fallen from her lap as she sprang to her feet. 

“ Is that the thing you read me about last winter in the 
Journal, with the soldiers with crosses on their backs on 
hosses startin’ out for Jerusalem? ” demanded the old dame, 
but in a strangely agitated voice. 

“ Yes,” responded Maria-Ann, promptly, but with less 
acerbity of manner. 

“ And is that red rag you hid away a cross, Maria-Ann 
Simmons ? ” No words can do justice to the old dame’s tone 
and its implied impiety of her granddaughter’s conduct. 

Maria-Ann was silent. 

“ Be you a Christian girl, or an idolater, Maria-Ann? ” 


278 A Daughter of the Rich 

Her grandmother’s voice shook pitiably. Maria-Ann’s 
conscience gave a twinge, when she heard it; but she felt 
the time was ripe, and she must put in the sickle. 

“ I hope I’m a Christian, grandmarm, but I’m an idolater, 
too,—” Aunt Tryphosa drew in her breath, as if hurt. 
“ But, anyway, I guess I was an American ’fore I was a 
Christian, an’ I jest idolize my Country—” Maria-Ann’s 
eyes filled with tears — “ an’ I can’t do anything for her, nor 
make sacrifices same as other women do who can send their 
husbands —,” a sob, “ an’ lovers —,” another sob, “ an’ 
nuss ’em, an’ help on their Country’s cause livin’ ’way up 
here in an old back paster with an old cow — an’ an old 
wo — Oh, grandmarm! ” Maria-Ann broke down utterly, 
laid her head upon her knees, and sobbed unrestrainedly. 

It was an unusual sight, and Aunt Tryphosa was trou¬ 
bled. She felt it necessary to beat a retreat in the face of 
such genuine grief, but she was determined that it should 
be a dignified one. 

“ I ain’t never seen you give way so, Maria-Anij, and 
you’re thirty-one years old come next January. I’ve done 
my best to bring you up right, an’ now you’re old enough 
to know your own mind, I hope; so, if you want to leave 
me, you can go jest as soon as you can get ready. I come 
up for Dorcas, an’ now I’m goin’ home.” In spite of her 
effort her old voice trembled, but her pride sustained her 
nobly, and Maria-Ann was all unaware that the tears were 
rolling down the wrinkled furrows in the old cheeks as 
her grandmother drove Dorcas before her down the fern- 
scented pasture slope. 

Her granddaughter followed her half an hour later, and 
after a silent supper, except for Aunt Tryphosa’s murmured 
“grace,” and a faint “amen” from the other side of the 


A Daughter of the Rich 279 

table, Maria-Ann lighted a lamp and shut herself into her 
small bedroom. 

She placed a chair against the door, lest she might be 
suddenly raided, and drew the other splint-bottomed one 
up to the head of the bed. Lifting the feather-bed she 
thrust her hand far under and drew out a square, white 
pasteboard box. It was tied with a narrow, white ribbon. 
She undid it carefully, and took out a layer of tissue pa¬ 
per. The lamp-light shone upon a large, gilt heart, some 
ten by eight inches, with a thickness of two inches. 

Maria-Ann turned the box this way and that, watching 
the play of light on it, for the heart was skewered with a 
large, silver-gilt arrow, and the shaft, where it penetrated, 
held a small, white card with simulated blood-drops in 
carmine splashed on in one corner, and the sentiment, writ¬ 
ten in the same, straggling diagonally across the other cor¬ 
ner: 

M In thy sight 
Is my delight.” 

Maria-Ann shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair. 
“ Don’t seems as if he’d sent me that if he hadn’t meant 
somethin’,” she murmured, and dreamed for a little while. 
Then she opened her eyes, prepared for new delights. Rais¬ 
ing the gilt top with tender care, she took out a faded rose. 

“ Don’t seem as if he’d come back that nex’ momin’ 
after Chris’mus an’ give me that, ’thout he’d had some no¬ 
tion.” She laid the rose carefully upon the tissue paper, 
and began to lift the leaves of the heart-shaped book, until 
she had lifted every one of the three hundred and sixty- 
five! She smiled to herself. 

“ ’Tain’t likely he’d ’a’ sent me jest such a cook-book, 
’thout he’d been tryin’ to give me a hint.” She began to 


280 A Daughter of the Rich 

read the recipes — it was absorbing: puddings, cakes, pre¬ 
serves. She was lost to time as she read; “ An’ he took 
that pair of socks I knit him last Chris’mus ’long with him, 
Rose said — ” There was a fumbling at her door. Maria- 
Ann blew out the light. 

“ That you, grandmarm? ” she called pleasantly. 

There was no answer, and Maria-Ann laughed softly to 
herself as she undressed in the dark, and lay down to sweet 
dreams. 

“ I’m goin’ over to Mis’ Blossom’s, grandmarm,” she 
announced the next afternoon, “ to see if they’ve had any 
news. I ain’t heard for two days.” 

Her grandmother made no reply, but when her grand¬ 
daughter was well on her way to the Blossoms’, Mrs. Try- 
phosa Little’s conscience deemed it prudent to issue a pri¬ 
vate search-warrant and investigate Maria-Ann’s premises 
— even to the under side of the feather-bed. The results 
perfectly justified the search, and upon Maria-Ann’s return 
just before tea, she was amazed to have her grandmother 
offer her a wrinkled cheek to kiss. 

“ Why, grandmarm! ” exclaimed Maria-Ann, in joyful 
surprise, “ I’m so glad you ain’t laid it up against me — ” 

“ I can see through a barn-door when ’t is wide open, 
even at my time of life, Maria-Ann Simmons,” said the 
old dame, interrupting her. 

“ What did you hear over to Ben’s ? ” 

“ Hazel’s just had a letter from her father, and he says 
they’ve got Mr. Sherrill home to New York, an’ if nothin’ 
new sets in, he’ll get over it, but his lungs’ll be weak, mebbe, 
for two years. He was shot clean through the lungs.” 

“ What do they hear from Chi ? ” 

Maria-Ann’s face grew suddenly radiant. “ Oh, he’s 
been awful sick with the fever, an’ ain’t left Cuby yet, but 


281 


A Daughter of the Rich 

he’ll come North jest as soon as he can be transported. I’ve 
been talking over my plans with Mis’ Blossom an’ Rose 
an’ Hazel, an’ they’re goin’ to do everything they can for 
me.” 

“So you’re a-goin’ to Cuby, Maria-Ann?” 

“ Yes, grandmarm, I’ve got a call to go an’ nuss our 
sick an’ wounded; I’ve been readin’ a lot ’bout the Red 
Cross nusses in the Hearthstone Journal, an’ I’m goin’ to 
wear a cross, an’ Hazel’s goin’ to pay my fare, an’ I’m 
goin’ to stop to Mr. Clyde’s when I get to New York, an’ 
he’ll start me all right for Cuby — ” 

“ Them beets are burnin’ on, Maria-Ann; guess you’d 
better stop for jest one more meal on the Mountin, hadn’t 
you?” said her grandmother, dryly. 

Maria-Ann laughed merrily. “ I know, grandmarm, it 
seems kinder queer and foolish to you, but I feel as if I 
could go now with nothin’ on my mind, for you know 
Mandy’s girl is cornin’ to stay all September an’ October, 
an’ she’s grand help. You won’t begin to miss me ’fore 
I’ll be back — an’ I’ll own up, grandmarm, ever since Rose 
Blossom went to New York last winter, I’ve hankered 
after seein’ more of the world ’sides Mount Hunger.” 

“When you goin’ to start?” 

“ I calculate ’bout the last of next week, that’ll be into 
September — here, let me pare them beets, grandmarm; ” 
and forthwith she seized the pan, and began peeling the 
steaming, deep-red balls, singing heartily the while: 

“ ‘ Must I be carried to the skies 
On flowery beds of ease, 

While others fought to win the prize, 

And sailed through bloody seas ? ’ ” 


282 


A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Now be careful, and change at White River Junction,” 
were Mr. Blossom’s parting words at the station. “ After 
that you go right through to New York.” 

“ I’ll take good care, don’t you any of you worry ’bout 
me! ” She waved her handkerchief from the back plat¬ 
form of the car to the little group she was leaving — Mr. 
and Mrs. Blossom, Rose, March and Hazel, Captain Spill- 
kins and Susan Wood, with Elvira and Melissa. She was 
inflated with heroic resolve, and felt ennobled to be going 
forth to do battle, as she termed it to herself, for her Coun¬ 
try’s cause. Moreover she was seeing the world, and even 
at the start she found it most interesting, for she had been 
but ten miles at most by train, and here she was speeding 
towards White River Junction, distant forty miles from 
Barton’s River. 

She longed to communicate her enthusiasm to the occu¬ 
pants of the car, but found only one opportunity. She of¬ 
fered to hold a baby, one of a family of five, while the 
mother fed and watered the other four. She continued to 
dandle it recklessly till the woman protested: 

“ Guess you ain’t had a fam’ly,” she remarked sternly, 
rescuing her child; “ a woman of your age ought to know 
better’n to shake a baby up so when he’s teethin’ — ’tain’t 
good for their brains — like enough to bring on chol’ry 
morbis.” She pulled down the small clothes, turned 
the atom over on its stomach, and patted its back with a 
broad hand and a dove-like settling motion that bespoke 
the mater-familias. 

Maria-Ann looked out of the window. True, she hadn’t 
any family — only Grandmarm Little and Aunt Mandy’s 
one daughter who had just come to visit them. What was 
Aunt Tryphosa doing now? She was dreaming again, and 
before she could realize it, the brakeman called, “ White 


A Daughter of the Rich 283 

River Junction! Change cars for all points south via Wind¬ 
sor, Springfield, New York.” 

Hearing that, Maria-Ann felt as if she had already trav¬ 
elled a thousand miles, so far away seemed Mount Hunger 
and its uneventful life. 

She found herself on the platform. She had been so 
confident of taking care of herself — and now! She looked 
helplessly about. Trains to the right of her, trains to the 
left of her, trains in front of her and behind her switched, 
and shifted, and thundered. Engine-bells, dinner-bells, train- 
bells; stentorian voices of baggage-men, brakemen, call- 
men ; frantic women, screaming babies, hurrying porters, in¬ 
different travellers, fashionable women and city men; 
farmers, children, baskets, shawl-straps, dress-suit cases, 
golf bags, boys; dogs, yelping and crying, in arms or in 
leash; canaries in their wooden cages shrilling over all; and 
hither and thither and yon a bustling, and rustling, and 
rattling, and roaring, and clanking, and hissing, and shriek¬ 
ing, and hurrying, and scurrying, and pushing, and hauling, 
and prodding, and rushing! For a minute Maria-Ann was 
dazed and almost stunned. Then her courage rose to the oc¬ 
casion. This was the famous Junction of which she had 
heard so much. This was the great world. This was Life! 

“ I’ll stand stock-still an’ wait till it clears up a little. I’ve 
got an hour here, an’ mebbe I’ll see somebody from Bar¬ 
ton’s,” she said to herself, and had just put down her valise 
when a hoarse voice cried in her ear, — “ Hi, there! get 
out of the way! ” 

She dodged a baggage truck piled high with toppling 
trunks, only to be caught in the surging, living stream, and 
carried with it up a step into the restaurant of the station. 

To Maria-Ann it was a marvellous sight. She set down 
her valise by a window and, standing guard in front of 


284 A Daughter of the Rich 

it, gazed about her with intense satisfaction. In truth this 
was seeing the great world, of which she had read so much 
in the Journal and for which she had longed, at first hand. 
Around the counter — a long oval — were perched on the 
high, wooden, spring stools “all sorts and conditions of 
men/’ with a sprinkling of women and children. There 
was perpetual motion of knives, forks, teaspoons, arms, 
hands, mouths, — and a noisy conglomerate beyond de¬ 
scription, accented by the shriek and toot of the switch- 
engines. 

Suddenly the clangor of a gong-like bell and a stentorian 
voice rose above the chaos of sound; — there was a mo¬ 
mentary lull in the confusion of masticating utensils, fol¬ 
lowed by a general slipping, sliding, and jumping off the 
round wooden perches, — and to Maria-Ann’s amazement, 
the room was nearly vacant. 

“Now’s my time,” said Maria-Ann, with considerable 
complacency, and forthwith proceeded to hoist herself, by 
means of the foot-rail, upon one of the seats, at the same 
time placing her valise on another at her right. She looked 
at the varied assortment of delectables — an embarrassment 
of riches : jelly-roll cakes, pickles, squash pie, baked beans, 
frosted tea-cakes, sage cheese, ham sandwiches, lemon pie, 
cold, spice-speckled custards, doughnuts, great as to their 
circumference, startling as to their cubical contents. 

“ I’ve heard tell of them,” said Maria-Ann to herself, as 
her eye, ranging the oval marble slab, encountered a pyra¬ 
midal pile of New England’s doughty cruller. “ I’ll have 
two of them, I guess,” she said to the indifferent attendant, 
“ an’ a cup of coffee; that ’ll last me for a spell, and I can 
keep my lunch for supper.” She expected some response 
to her explanation, but there was none forthcoming, save 
that a cup of coffee, half-pint size, was shoved over the 


A Daughter of the Rich 285 

counter towards her, and the huge glass dome that pro¬ 
tected the doughnuts was removed with a jerk, and the 
towering pile set down in front of her. 

Maria-Ann helped herself. It seemed rather tame, after 
so much excitement, to be eating a doughnut the size of a 
small feather-bed, without company. She looked around. 
There were but three or four at the entire counter. Farther 
down to the left, his tall, gaunt figure silhouetted against the 
blank of the large window, a man was seated, bestriding the 
perch as if it were a horse. He wore the undress uniform 
of the volunteer cavalry. When Maria-Ann discovered this, 
she felt for a moment, to use her own expression, “ flus¬ 
tered.” The mere presence of the uniform brought to her 
a realizing sense of the importance of her mission; it seemed 
to bring her at once into touch with far-away Cuba, and 
the feminine knights of the Red Cross; with — her heart 
gave a joyful thump — with Chi! She felt in a way en¬ 
nobled to be eating her doughnut within speaking distance 
of a hero (they were all that in Maria-Ann’s idealizing 
imagination). 

She had bitten only halfway into the periphery of the 
doughnut, when the man stepped from his seat. She 
watched him as he moved slowly towards the door; his 
back was turned to her. How feebly he moved! Almost 
seeming to drag one foot after the other. 

A great flood of patriotic pity engulfed Maria-Ann’s whole 
being. She forgot the doughnuts; she left the coffee; she 
forgot even her valise; her one thought was as she slid 
from the stool: “ I ain’t no call to wait till I get to Cuby; 
I’m just as much a Red Cross nuss right here in White 
River Junction, Vermont, as if I was a thousand miles 
away.” The girl at the counter looked after her in amaze¬ 
ment — she hadn’t even paid! But there was her valise. 


286 A Daughter of the Rich 

She saw Maria-Ann whisk something out of her dress- 
waist and stop halfway down the room to pin it on her 
sleeve, and lo and behold! — it was a cross of bright red 
flannel. She saw her hurry after the man, who had dragged 
himself to the doorway, and stood there leaning heavily 
against the jamb. 

“If you’re goin’ to take a train, just you let me help you 
aboard,” she said, speaking just at his elbow. The man’s 
head half turned with a jerk. “ You ain’t fit to stan’ more’n 
an eight months baby, an’ I’m a Red Cross nuss on my way 
to Cuby —” 

A gaunt, yellow face with haggard eyes was turned slowly 
full upon her, and a hand, shaking, as that of a man in drink, 
was laid on her arm: 

“ Don’t you know me, Marier-Ann ? ” 

Maria-Ann sat down suddenly on the doorstep at the 
man’s feet. There was no strength left in her. Then she 
put her head into her hands, and began to cry softly; there 
were few to see her, and had the whole world been there, 
she would not have cared. 

“ Just help me into the waitin’-room, Marier-Ann, where 
we can talk.” 

She bounced to her feet, with streaming, tear-blinded 
eyes, and Chi, linking his arm in hers, led her into the “ La¬ 
dies’ Room.” 

A porter followed them in; he addressed Chi. “ She 
ain’t paid for what she ordered, and she ain’t eat it neither, 
and she’s left her valise.” 

Chi pulled out a ten-cent piece and put it into his hand. 
“ Bring ’em all in,” he said, “ grub ’n’ all, ’n’ I’ll pay for 
’em. We’ll sit here a spell till train time.” Maria-Ann 
sobbed afresh. 

The porter brought in the plate with the doughnuts, the 


A Daughter of the Rich 287 

cup of coffee, and the valise, and set them down on the 
wooden settee. He pointed to the ten-cent piece that lay 
within the inner ring of a doughnut: 

“ I don’t take nothin’ of that kind from you fellers.” He 
touched the bit of braid on the cuff of Chi’s coat; Chi smiled 
and pocketed the money. 

“ Guess you wasn’t expectin’ to meet an old friend so 
soon, was you ? ” said Chi, gently, setting the plate in her 
lap. 

Maria-Ann shook her head vigorously, but she could 
not control the sobs. Chi crossed one leg over the other 
and waited. 

The flies buzzed on the smoke-thickened panes, and an 
empty truck rattled down the platform. There were no 
other sounds. 

“When does your train go, Marier-Ann?” 

There was another sob, but no answer. 

“ Didn’t I hear you say you was on your way to Cuby?” 

Maria-Ann nodded. 

“ Bad place for women — ’n’ men, too. What you goin’ 
for?” 

Maria-Ann’s answer was only half audible: “ To nuss.” 

“ To nuss ? Ain’t there enough nussin’ you can do nearer 
home? ” 

Maria-Ann looked up with tear-reddened eyes. “ 1 didn’t 
think so —” a sob —” till I saw you, Chi. I didn’t know 
you — I thought I’d begin right now, before I got there — ” 
her hands covered her eyes again. 

Chi’s trembling ones, weak from the fever, drew her 
cold ones down from her face. 

“ You did just right, Marier-Ann, to want to begin right 
now. _ The Barton’s River train is due to start from here 


288 


A Daughter of the Rich 

in fifteen minutes; — s’posin’ you give up Cuby, ’n’ come 
along home, V try nussin’ me. I need it bad enough.” 

“ O, Chi, do you mean it?” Maria-Ann caught her 
breath. 

“ You bet I do,” said Chi, emphatically, “ only ” — he 
paused and took up the plate from her lap, spilling the 
coffee, for the trembling of his hand had increased — “ if 
you’re goin’ to undertake it with me, it’s got to be a life 
job, Marier-Ann.” 

The flies continued to buzz on the smoke-thickened panes. 
The train for Barton’s River steamed in from the siding. 
The couple in the waiting-room boarded it. The porter 
watched them with a queer smile. Then he took up the 
plate of uneaten doughnuts and the cup of cooled coffee, 
and handed them to the girl behind the counter. 

“ She ain’t eat ’em, after all,” she said. “ She acted 
kinder queer for a Red Cross nurse.” 

“ He’s the chap I give the telegram to when he got here 
on the up-train last night.” 

“ What was it?” 

“ Twenty-five cent one from Barton’s River — ‘M. A. 
starts for Cuba Thursday stop her at Junction.’ ” 

The girl laughed, and the restaurant filled again. 


XXVII 


“ — The stars above 
Shine ever on Love — ” 

“ I’m goin , up into the clearin’, Mis’ Blossom, to see if 
there ain’t some late blackberries,” said Chi, a few days 
after his triumphal return with Maria-Ann. “ Seems as 
if the smell of the sun on that spruce-bush up yonder would 
put new life into me—I feel so kind of shif’less.” 

“ I would, Chi,” said Mrs. Blossom; “you haven’t begun 
to get your strength back yet, and the more you’re out in 
this air, without overworking, the better it will be for 
you.” 

“ I’ll go with you, Chi,” said Rose, looking up from her 
work, as she sat sewing on the lower step of the porch. 

“ That’s right, Rose-pose; it’ll seem like old times.” Chi 
followed her with wistful eyes as she turned to go up stairs. 

“ I’ll be down in a few minutes, Chi; we’d better take 
the two-quart pails, hadn’t we ? ” 

“ Maybe we’ll find enough for one or two messes.” 

He turned to Mrs. Blossom when Rose had left the room. 
“ Can’t there nothin’ be done ’bout it, Mis’ Blossom?” He 
spoke almost wistfully. 

Mrs. Blossom’s eyes filled with tears. She hesitated a 
moment before she spoke: “ I know Rose so well, Chi, 
that I dare not interfere. I doubt if she would accept any¬ 
thing, even from me, her mother.” 

“ It beats me,” Chi sighed heavily. “He’s just a-pinin’ 
for a word or sign, ’n’ there ain’t no use talkin’ — she's 


290 A Daughter of the Rich 

got to give it; I’d back him up every time, he’s done 
enough ” 

“ Sh — ! ” Mrs. Blossom held up her finger; she heard 
Rose on the stairs. Chi looked up — his old Rose-pose stood 
before him: old, faded, green and white calico dress, old 
sunbonnet, patched shoes! Chi turned away abruptly to 
get his pails; and her mother wondered, but said nothing. 

They found more than one “ patch,” where the berries 
hung in luscious clusters of shining jet. Chi pummelled 
his chest, and drew deep, deep breaths of the balsamic moun¬ 
tain air. “ This sets a man up, Rose-pose; there ain’t 
nothin’ like the air on this Mountain for an all-round tonic. 
Let’s sit here a spell, right by this sweet fern.” 

She pushed back the sunbonnet as she sat down beside 
him. “Tired, Chi?” 

“ No — rests me clear through just to sit ’n’ look off 
onto those slopes, just about as green as in June.” 

They sat awhile in silence; then Chi turned and picked 
up the sunbonnet that had fallen from her head. He touched 
it gently. 

“ Remember the first time you sold berries in that rig, 
Rose-pose ? ” 

The blood surged into Rose’s face, and receded, leaving 
it strangely white. Chi felt his heart contract at the change, 
but he went on: 

“ First time Jack ever saw you was in that rig. — You 
ain’t changed so much but he’d know you again if he saw 
you in Chiny.” 

Still there was silence. Chi moistened his lips. 

“ Can’t say as much for him; never saw such a change; 
he’s all fallen away to nothin’ but skin and bones. Doctor 
Heath told me just before I left — ’n’ he put me aboard the 
train — that nothin’ could set him up again but this Moun- 


~A Daughter of the Rich 291 

tain air, n good food, V — ” Chi paused; his mouth was 
uncomfortably dry. Rose’s face was turned from him, 
but he saw a contraction of her delicate throat, as if a 
dry sob were suddenly suppressed. Then she spoke in a 
monotone: 

“ Why doesn’t he come, then? ” 

" Why! —" Chi fairly startled himself with his thunder¬ 
ing “ why,” and Rose half started from the ground. The 
blood leaped to her very temples; seeing which, Chi took 
heart —“Coz he’s every inch a man, Rose Blossom; ’n’ he’s 
got too much grit of the right sort to ask a girl twice, he’s 
about given his heart’s blood for. 

“He ain’t a-goin’ to come crawlin’ up here to ask no 
favors of you after he knows that you know — ’n’ I glory 
in his spunk. But I can tell you, if you don’t look out, you’ll 
come nearer to bein’ a real Molly Stark than you ever 
thought you could be when you joined the N. B. B. O. O., 
’n’ by George Washin’ton! it goes against me to see you 
breakin’ the by-laws you pledged yourself to stand by, every 
minute of your life that you keep so dumb towards Jack 
Sherrill; — for you’re provin’ yourself a coward in your 
love, ’n’ you’ll have a widowed heart to pay for it mighty 
soon, if you keep on, that’ll be worse than Molly Stark’s any 
day — ” a whisper stopped him: 

“ Chi, Chi, tell him to come — I want him so; oh, Chi! ” 

Chi’s hand was laid on the bowed head with its crown of 
shining, golden-brown braids: “ Rose Blossom, may God 

Almighty bless you for proving yourself a true woman, ’n’ 
worthy of the mother that bore you. I can’t say any more.” 

An hour later March Blossom, with a telegram in his 
hand, was speeding on Fleet to Barton’s River; and two days 
afterwards Mr. Blossom and Alan Ford in the double 
wagon, and Chi alone in the buggy, drove down to Barton’s 


292 A Daughter of the Rich 

to meet the up-train. Mrs. Blossom and Rose stood on the 
porch straining their eyes in the quickly-falling September 
twilight to see any movement on the lower road. The chil¬ 
dren had been sent over to Hunger-ford till after tea, for 
Jack was not strong enough to bear a too joyful home¬ 
coming. 

“ They’re coming, Rose,” said Mrs. Blossom, in a low 
tone; then she turned abruptly, and went into the house, 
leaving Rose alone on the step. 

“ Here we are safe ’n’ sound,” said Chi, in an affectedly 
cheery voice, as he drove out of the woods’-road. “ Just 
wait a minute, Jack, ’n’ I’ll give you an arm gettin’ out.” 
He laid the reins on the dasher. Then he assisted the tall, 
gaunt figure of the man beside him to alight. Jack half 
stumbled, for his eyes were seeking Rose — and Rose ? 

All her womanhood, all the sacred privileges of wifehood, 
came to her aid at that moment. She sprang to the carriage, 
and, with one hand, put Chi aside; with the other, she lifted 
Jack’s half-nerveless arm and laid it over her shoulders; 
then, encircling him with her own slender one, she said 
gently, guiding him to the porch step: 

“ Lean on me, dearest ” 

On the first of November, one of the short-lived Indian 
Summer days, the farmhouse on Mount Hunger literally 
blossomed like a rose. 

A week beforehand there had been an animated discus¬ 
sion as to what should be the wedding decorations of the 
“ long-room.” Hazel, who had been with them a week al¬ 
ready, settled it. 

“ As if there could be any choice! ” she exclaimed. " It’s 
been great fun to hear you all suggesting this, that, and 
the other, from ground hemlock and bitter-sweet, to ever- 


A Daughter of the Rich 293 

lasting! But Jack and I settled it three weeks ago — how 
could there be anything for Rose, but roses? Anyway, 
that’s what Jack wrote, and our florist looked fairly dazed 
when I gave him the order — just bushels of them, 
Rose-pose, lovely La France ones, like those you threw into 
the — No, I won’t tease you, Cousin mine,” she said, with 
a merry laugh, as Rose looked at her appealingly. 

And now, on the wedding morning of the first of Novem¬ 
ber, the great box that Chi had brought up from Barton’s 
the night before was opened, and in Hazel’s skilful fingers 
the exquisite pink blooms lent to the “ long-room ” a won¬ 
derful grace and beauty. 

She was flitting about in her pale pink cashmere dress — 
“ Made specially to match the roses,” she said to March, as 
she dropped him a curtsy preparatory to pinning a rose into 
his buttonhole. “ We must all wear Rose-pose’s badge to¬ 
day. Where are you, Budd ? ” 

“ Here,” said her knight, promptly appearing with Cherry 
from the pantry, where they had been counting the frosting- 
roses on the wedding-cake. He looked down at the slender 
fingers as they pulled the stem of the pink bud through the 
buttonhole of his jacket, and thought — of the ring! Then 
he looked up at the tall, beautiful girl bending over him, and, 
somehow, the day of his proposal seemed very far away in 
the Past. Hazel was so grown up! — as tall as Rose. Still, 
he wasn’t going to be afraid, if she was grown up. Now 
was his time; — and “ Ethan Allan ” always made the most 
of his opportunities. Budd was in United States History, 
this term, and he knew this for a fact. 

He drew forth from his breeches’ pocket a something that 
might once have been white, but, at present, looked more 
like a shoe-rag, it was so dingy and soiled. 

“ Fve kept it, you see, Hazel,” he said, his small mouth 


294 A Daughter of the Rich 

puckering, his round, light-blue eyes growing rounder, as he 
looked up at Hazel, with twelve-year-old earnestness. 

“ Keep what ? ” said Hazel, mystified, and holding up the 
offering gingerly between thumb and forefinger to examine 
it. 

“ Why, don’t you know? — the glove you gave me when 
you said you’d be my Lady-love ? don’t you remember,— in 
the barn ? ” answered Budd, slightly crestfallen. 

Hazel laughed merrily. “ Oh, you funny boy! ” she said, 
“to keep an old glove of mine for nearly a year and a half! 
Why, it’s nearly black and blue. Have you kept it in your 
best Sunday-go-to-meeting trousers’ pocket all this time ? ” 

Budd nodded, but soberly. Seeing which, Hazel, gave him 
a pat on the top of his head, and assured him she would give 
him one of her cleaned party gloves once a year till he was 
twenty-one, if only he would promise not to keep it in his 
pocket with spruce-gum, chalk, chestnuts, lead-pencil sharp- 
enings, top-twine, jack-knives, and ginger cookie crumbs. 

“ How’d you know I had all those things in my pocket ? ” 
demanded Budd, in his amazement forgetting his sentiment. 

“ Oh, a little bird told me,” replied Hazel. “ Run and ask 
Chi to come in, will you ? I have his rose ready for him, and 
it’s most time for them all to come.” 

It was a quiet wedding. Only those nearest and dearest 
were about them; Mr. Sherrill, Aunt Carrie and Uncle Jo, 
Mr. Clyde and Hazel, Doctor and Mrs. Heath, the Blossoms 
and Chi. 

Afterwards all the Lost Nations came in to give their 
heart-felt blessings and good wishes. They were all there — 
from Maria-Ann, radiant in the realization of her own 
romance, to Miss Alton and the Fords, who were to leave on 
the night train to remain six weeks in New York, and had 
placed Hunger-ford at the disposal of Rose and Jack during 


A Daughter of the Rich 295 

the first weeks of their marriage. They remained but a lit¬ 
tle while, for the excitement was almost more than Jack was 
able to bear. 

The moon rose between six and seven, largely luminous 
and slightly reddened through the soft, warm haze of the 
Indian Summer night. Rose had insisted, that, if the night 
were mild, Jack should ride over to Hunger-ford at a snail’s 
pace on Little Shaver, and that she should lead him. At first 
Jack protested, but in the end Rose had her way. Chi, on 
Fleet, was to ride on a little ahead to be within call, if any¬ 
thing should be needed. “ Kind of scoutin’ to remind us of 
Cuby, Jack,” he said, laughing, as he helped him into the 
saddle. 

They were all on the porch to see the little cavalcade set 
forth, the pony whinnying his delight to find his master on 
his back. Rose took the bridle. Suddenly she dropped it, 
turned, and came back to the steps where Hazel stood be¬ 
tween Mrs. Blossom and March. She put up her arms, and 
clasping the young girl about the waist, drew her down to 
kiss her, and whisper: 

“ Oh, Hazel! What if you hadn’t come to us! — All this 
happiness is through you.” 

And Hazel, but dimly perceiving Rose’s meaning, whis¬ 
pered back as she kissed her: 

“ And if I hadn’t come, Rose-pose, I should never have 
been rich as I am now; Chi can’t call me ‘ poor ’ any longer 
— for you’re all mine, now that you are Jack s; aren t you? 

March, hearing those whispered words, found his 
mother’s hand, somehow,— and Mrs. Blossom understood. 

“ Good-night, Martie dear,” cried Rose, love and tears and 
laughter struggling in her voice. 

“ Good-night, Rose dear.” 


296 A Daughter of the Rich 

“ Good-night, Rose — Good-night, Jack! ” cried the 
twins. 

A white slipper filled with rice flew after Little Shaver, 
and hit him on the left hock. But he was a well-bred polo 
pony, and a white satin slipper with a little rice was as noth¬ 
ing to a swift, long-distance polo ball; so he gave no sign. 

Chi stopped at the little house “ over eastwards.” Maria- 
Ann was on the lookout. 

“ They’re cornin’ along just by the turn of the road,” he 
spoke low, “ can you see ’em ? ” 

The road lay white in the moonlight. “ Yes, yes,” cried 
Maria-Ann excitedly, “ Oh, Chi, ain’t it beautiful! ” 

“ Sh-sh! ” said Chi, “ they’ll hear you. Hark! By 

George Washin’ton! she’s singin’— Get, Fleet.” The horse 
loped along over the moonlit road, and Maria-Ann went in 
and shut the door — all but a crack. To that she put her 
ear, to hear what the clear, sweet voice was singing: 

" * I told thee when love was hopeless; 

But now he is wild and sings — 

That the stars above 
Shine ever on Love, 

Though they frown on the fate of kings/ ” 

Mount Hunger stood bathed in white radiance. The 
stars came out, but faintly: — still they were shining. 

















































































































































































































































































































